


Our Trusty Getaway Car

by Dr_Cat



Category: Knight Rider (1982)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Artificial Intelligence, Conspiracy, Gen, On the Run, Original Character(s), Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-02-18 21:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 114,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22867153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Cat/pseuds/Dr_Cat
Summary: After years of faithful service to FLAG without his original crew, KITT finds himself running away. Why? Because he knows they're in danger. How does he know? He doesn't which leads into an AU story/epic based sometime after the original series ended.
Comments: 40
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Knight Rider or its respected characters mentioned in this story. They were created by Glen A. Larson and are copyrighted to NBC/Universal.

_Personal Log: June, Thursday_

_. . . Finally, I win. As Isaiah Berlin put it; freedom for the wolves has often meant death to the sheep . . ._

_Sandulf_

* * *

The sun slipped further down the mountainous horizon as twilight's bursts of fiery reds and oranges gave way to dusk's hues of soft purples and blues. The ivory moon was visible in the eastern sky and the first evening star made its appearance, winking down on the earth below; a picture of total calm. In contrast to the peaceful transition from day to night was the eastbound traffic of Interstate 70 trying to work its way into Denver. The change in lighting reminded some drivers to switch on their headlights though they wondered what good it would do them since they weren't going anywhere anyway. It had been bumper-to-bumper traffic for the last two hours and, with the accident crew still on scene, no end seemed in sight.

Most commuters on this Sunday evening were polite and patient, but, in accordance with any traffic jam, some motorists' tempers could run hot which gave way to the occasional nasty gesture, offensive word and hateful laying on the horn. Yet, amidst a sea of gridlock, exhaust and noise there sat something which appeared to line up with the serene skyline above.

An abnormally quiet, black Trans Am lifted its headlamps as it inched forward; surrounded by vehicles a fraction of its model's age and yet making the other cars seem like clunkers in comparison to its muted engine. The only sound emitting from this Pontiac came in the form of a hushed whir as if the wind were constantly rushing by it. There were other modifications to the car, such as the more pronounced front bumper and shortened height, but its most distinguishing feature rested just above its prow; a series of eight red fiber optic lights oscillating across its grill.

The lady passenger of a neighboring SUV wondered briefly why the driver of the eighties muscle car even bothered to turn on their lights. The dust and grime clinging to the vehicle's black finish gave the correct assumption it had been on the road for quite some time and given the amount of dirt on the windshield it seemed unlikely the driver could see. In fact, she thought the windows on the little pony car were tinted far beyond what was legally acceptable and that even if broad daylight were beaming from the headlights it would be impossible for the joker behind the wheel to see the road ahead. However, she had witnessed the car navigate flawlessly on the busy highway hours earlier so the occupant of the sports utility vehicle scooted ahead of the old classic not giving it any more thought, but the black T-top did.

More accurately, the sophisticated artificial intelligence system housed inside the Trans Am was giving the whole situation the utmost attention and the only thing old about this car was in facade alone. Through a vast array of advanced technology, the Knight Industries Two Thousand, or KITT, was uniquely qualified to maneuver down the interstate with or without lights. Through powerful sensory equipment, various scanners, massive memory modules, command of a vehicle possessing a virtually indestructible molecular bonded shell and a personality all his own this microprocessor was a miracle on wheels; a one of a kind, high tech marvel in disguise. However, something important was missing from the car; someone. He was driverless. It was by choice and that fact had his CPU in a spiral of confused processing for the better part of three days.

 _Impossible. Completely unfeasible and illogical! This whole affair is . . . it's simply impossible. I can't do this. Why couldn't they just listen? No, they didn't listen because they didn't care . . . they never did. No! That's not true, it's irrational. I'm being irrational, but that's . . . that's also impossible! Stop._ The internal ranting was blocked at KITT's request. His friends had listened to him, and they did care; they just didn't understand him and he didn't seem to know what he was talking about either. He had already gone over this stream of reasoning eighty-seven times in the past seventy-two hours; he knew it led to nothing; not a reason for his behavior or the solution to his problem. Still, it kept circling around, time and time again.

Why?

Because he knew they were in danger; he had to act.

How did he know?

There was the faintest inkling, more of a suspicion really, that he had the answer to that question within himself, but he didn't want to acknowledge it because that would mean it was true . . . and it couldn't be true. No, he didn't want it to be true. He just needed to review the data again; gain that perspective he was missing, but that threw another conundrum into his proverbial face. His memory banks had everything recorded and ready for processing, but those files felt haunted to him which was . . .

"Outrageous. I'm not supposed to _feel_ anything at all much less _haunted_ by my _own_ memories," he verbalized through his voice modulator. He routed the disturbing sensation aside, accessed the information he needed quickly and began to analyze what he knew to be the facts.

The Foundation for Law and Government, also known as FLAG, was currently undergoing the most difficult transition in all its' years of operation and KITT being the property of the organization was unfortunately placed in a complicated position. He was expensive to maintain and he knew this; one of the reasons he was still with FLAG instead of . . . well, anyway, the Foundation's ownership of him had been the necessary bane of his existence over the past decade. Funding had steadily dwindled down over the years and now it was at a drastic low. Along with this, FLAG's main benefactor, his namesake, Knight Industries, wanted to move in another direction with no interest in dragging along old legal programs. Ten years prior, the Foundation had been financially stable due mostly to the efforts of its late director Devon Miles.

The AI instantly noticed several other memory files opening in attachment to the stately man's name. His processor slowed in distress. He couldn't manage this right now, so he swiftly took the recollections and stored them elsewhere while continuing his original examination.

Devon had been skilled in the art of negotiation and better versed in fundraising. He was the pillar that seemed to hold Wilton Knight's dream in place on all fronts. The Board of Directors at Knight Industries had respected him, government and law enforcement agencies had appreciated his cooperation and the man never did cease to amaze with the number of strings he could pull in a crisis. It shouldn't have come as any surprise when Devon passed away his position would be difficult to fill and the man himself sorely missed.

_Beep! Beep!_

"Ah!" KITT started as a chorus of car horns blared from behind him. His scanner lights swept back and forth frantically as he saw that there was a good distance between him and the car ahead. He was appalled that he'd been so distracted. The one thing he didn't need to do was draw attention. After all, he was currently a runaway; a rogue artificial intelligence unit on the loose; possibly classified as a renegade machine no better than KARR or, or . . .

"Enough! . . ." he said, quieting his own CPU with the rationale he had not violated any of his basic programming; stretched, perhaps, but not violated. No one ordered him to stay and as long as he didn't receive a command to come back, he didn't have to.

He pulled up to the bumper of the car in front of him and stopped, redirecting his thoughts back to his original task

Devon's replacement was nothing short of disappointing. Things had changed and KITT didn't like change. Now, it was nothing against the middle-aged lawyer who took over the position, but, then again, it was. KITT had never seen the new director, not even once in the whole ten years since Mr. Miles' death. Scott Wellington didn't give out missions directly, didn't reside at FLAG headquarters and barely met with staff let alone the sophisticated computerized car. The man just simply didn't come around, unlike Devon who had lived and worked alongside him and the agency's operatives. Oh, the operatives . . . there had been so many drivers and technicians.

"Perhaps this isn't the best way to review the facts," he strained as a flow of overwhelming requests pushed against his server demanding attention.

Over the past ten years he had built up a gradual uneasiness towards the Foundation and, though he had always found the sentiment unreasonable, something had now pushed him over the threshold of apprehension into fear and he didn't know why. Fighting against the information had forced him to repeat his inquiries over and over, but allowing the records in wouldn't be easy, considering it led up to- "My ridiculous, impossible behavior."

He removed the divider and braced his mainframe for the onslaught of input.

At present, he didn't have a driver with the Foundation due to the fresh negotiations and latest budget cuts which, incidentally, also left him without proper maintenance. Terry Hall had been his most recent driver of two years, not an entirely bad man, but terribly impatient; had a dreadful habit of sucking air in through his teeth which drove KITT nuts. Evelyn Williams was in charge of his repairs at the time. She wasn't as good as . . . well, no one was as good as _her_ , but she was a fine technician as far as the profession went. She was employed before Terry Hall when Dennis Cook had been his pilot, a fairly large man with an infectious smile, so everyone said. Before him, was Eric Louis. Good, quiet Eric who was hired on before Evelyn when April Curtis had actually come back.

It had been a very welcomed reunion, even though it was only a short-term internship for the lively woman. Prior to April, Ms. Raquel Gomez had been his main mechanic, so to speak, and he had been happy to see her go along with the corresponding driver Joshua Brooks, whom he dubbed 'the brawler'. Before them was Brian Cunningham, a technician who managed to keep his systems up and running in that tough first year, and the wonderfully amazing Abigail Morton, a partner who had befriended him much the same way . . . well, he didn't like to think about what happened to her. Before them, Mrs. Tabitha Benson had been head engineer. She had always been resourceful and smart while her predecessor, Kimberly Jenkins, was terribly shy, but well mannered. One driver, Mr. Mark Edwards, was all protocol while another, Frank Nelson, liked to be called Frankie. Driver Robert Harris was kind-hearted and easy enough to get along with, but poor Sam Miller was unfairly first; judged too severely by the AI because he could never fill that empty role.

All came and went over the last fourteen years, usually leaving the position after a couple of years of service, sometimes less. None of them looked back. He had been as hospitable and sociable with them as he possibly could, but that's all it ever was, good manners and talk. In the end, they always left. He couldn't say he enjoyed all the constant changes, in fact, he despised it. Even with a dreadful operative or second-rate technician, he liked things to remain steady, if not a bit predictable; it was consoling. Having a new driver in the seat every season or so was jarring and a fresh technician under his hood made him feel violated. At least, for the first four years of major adjustments, he had Devon to fall back on, but these last ten were disconcerting at best. Someone was always saying goodbye to him one moment and then introducing themselves the next. In spite of all this, however, there was some solace . . .

Michael and Bonnie.

Finally, calm settled over the frantic pace of KITT's processor.

The two had been there since his beginning in 1982; a standard to go by. They had worked with him for eight years straight, creating stability he had cherished; a constant in rough times. They didn't just see him as the Knight Industries Two Thousand or an acronym for a supercar, he was Kitt; a sense of belonging.

They had both moved on since those times, either to retire from the action or pursue other career interests, but it was on understood terms this time. He had to admit, at first, he had perceived complete abandonment; surely he would never see or hear from them again. It had been to his shamefaced surprise when Bonnie had stayed in touch with the Foundation and him. It had been an even bigger shock and comfort when he received a correspondent from his old partner. Michael hadn't called often or anything, but it meant the world to KITT.

However, last year, these two significant people stepped back into his hectic existence more actively. Michael and Bonnie had moved back into the Los Angeles area. They could visit and they did, often. It was an appreciated reprieve from all the inconsistency in his life; a proverbial calm in the midst of the storm. Grant it, the visits were entirely too short and their partings were so bittersweet. It was nice to see them again, but so much time had passed and with it, the comfort he used to draw from them. He knew they would come back, but every occasion they left was like reliving the first time; always draining on him. That's why what transpired over three days ago was so-

No! He was a computer and couldn't have the logic inhibiting emotions that human's possessed; he couldn't. He couldn't _feel_ sentiment or _experience_ nostalgia and he certainly couldn't _suffer_ pain.

"Hey! Wake up, Moron! We're moving!" the angry shout of a motorist once again prompted KITT to pull the Trans Am forward, closing the gap of five yards.

"Some people. Maybe it would be best to wait until I have a little more privacy before continuing this train of thought," he reasoned. But then, what was he to occupy his processor with?

At least if he were cruising down the highway he would have driving the car to focus on, not that it was much of a distraction but this stop and go traffic was monotonous torture which made the temptation of delving back into his suffered musings almost appealing. Normally, he could center on debriefing his driver on mission details, mapping out destinations or playing video games when things became too tedious, but if he could do those things he wouldn't be in this situation, to begin with. Besides, he wasn't much for gaming; he always won anyway. His destination was a subject approached with trepidation; he didn't know where he was going. And there was no driver to debrief because he was alone. That in of itself was alarming enough, but the reason behind being alone was even more upsetting for the AI.

He needed to move, put a diversion between him and his thoughts, but the congestion was so frustrating! Now he understood why Michael . . . oh, forget it. This was exhausting. Could computers grow tired? After three days of non-stop calculating with zero results, his circuits were worn out. He needed tasks he could solve. With that in mind, he ran a self-diagnostic on his systems as well as the functions of the car and felt some relief when concrete results came in.

There was still enough power in his packs for another day of operation even with all the extra demands he was placing on his CPU. Some schemes were running slowly. He really wished he could have had Bonnie recalibrate them before he left, but he would just have to make do with self-issued readjustments instead. Thanks to the preceptors installed in his engine block and most of his internal systems he could feel the pressure of dirt and grime clinging to parts he didn't want to think about. He truly was filthy from all the one-thousand-plus miles he had traveled and every particle of dust on his black frame seemed to mock his already fragile ego. And the traffic around him was . . . starting to move again!

Finally, there would be a break; an interruption to this madness. Unfortunately, a new dilemma had been revealed by his analysis. The fuel tank was nearing empty.

**_Last Thursday Morning_ **

A middle-aged Caucasian woman with auburn hair wearing a teal semi-casual dress was more than a little upset with herself as she made her way over to the trail that would take her down to FLAG's garage. She was running late and it was for a meeting she had arranged for personally; an unforgivable mistake in her mind. Then again, it was only ten minutes after nine; she wasn't that late. Besides, one of the persons she was supposed to meet with wasn't known for his impeccable timing. Heck, he might not even be there yet. That thought cheered her up a bit and so did the scenery around her. The Foundation always brought back memories; some good and some bad. She had already been up to the organization's grounds fourteen times since moving back to Los Angeles last year, but it still held a certain nostalgic charm for her and probably always would.

A small, sad smile came to her face as she remembered her old position as lead engineer. She recalled the team she used to work with, the time she spent at the mansion before finally leaving and how heartbreaking it was to hear about Devon's passing. A frown shadowed her features as she thought about the former director; her old boss and friend. Devon Miles had been sort of a second father to her, considering her real father was still bothered by her choice in programming over medicine. Devon had always been encouraging in her pursuits, even when it ultimately meant her leaving. Such bittersweet memories were best left untouched for now, bearing in mind her current dilemma, but her thoughts were soon drawn elsewhere.

"Please."

"Come on!"

Her brow furrowed upon nearing the garage as she noticed the door was open; two voices drifting out, animated by a charged discussion. Michael and KITT. Remembering those two most of all, she stopped in hesitation.

It wasn't that she was scared of going in to see them. Quite the opposite; she liked visiting with the two as often as she could. This would be a reunion of sorts; a long-overdue get-together for the three members of a somewhat odd family. She couldn't rightly remember a time they had all been together like this; years perhaps, but their company certainly wasn't the cause of her reluctance.

Her fear stemmed from the reason she set up this meeting, to begin with. Guilt and worry swirled around her, but she began walking towards the open garage door anyway. Catching the tail end of a conversation between the two old friends, Bonnie smiled. Seated upon a metal workbench was a tall middle-aged Caucasian man with slightly graying dark brown hair wearing a light purple polo shirt and blue jeans. Next to him was parked a black 1982 style Firebird, modifications obvious.

"I don't think I'll ever understand you, Michael," stated that bemused voice of KITT's she remembered so well.

"Nor I you, Kitt. So, let's just agree to disagree; fair enough?" replied that easy-going voice of Michael's she remembered all too well.

"I suppose so," KITT said, relenting on whatever quarrel they were having, at least for the moment.

"Hi, Guys," she said in greeting, trying to hold on to the atmosphere of familiarity in the room. KITT's whole scanner bar flashed once brightly.

"Hello, Bonnie," he said with a recognizable lightness in his tone. The AI was happy to see her and she was glad for it.

"You're late, Dr. Barstow," Michael stated in a mock scold. Bonnie rolled her eyes causing the tall man to laugh. She gave a small snort.

"If you saw the traffic I had to go through to get here, Mr. Hatton, you wouldn't be laughing," she said, still finding it hard to use the man's new surname even after all these years.

"I guess, but I made it here on time."

"Please, there have been times you were several hours late . . ."

"Sometimes days," KITT added quickly, causing Bonnie to laugh. Michael gave the Trans Am a hard look before standing up.

"Thanks a lot, pal."

The red scanner lights undulated while Bonnie watched Michael lean up against one of the garage's worktables. In the past, the man would have chosen to rest against KITT's side or hood. Just another small testament to how distant they all had become.

"So what were you two talking about?" she asked casually.

"The finer tastes in music," Michael said in a mock polished voice.

"Or the lack thereof in your case," KITT added sardonically.

"Hey, hey. Agree to disagree remember. Besides, I was only trying to keep you entertained while we waited for, Late Kate, over there."

"I'm only late by ten minutes, Michael," Bonnie said a little more defensively than she meant.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't the one who called you up at six in the morning to meet here at nine. I doubt this was just a social call, so what's this about anyway," Michael asked curtly. Bonnie sighed. It was always right down to business with Michael when he was suspicious about something and, unfortunately, he had a reason to be. What she needed to discuss concerned KITT, but she didn't necessarily know if she should have the conversation in front of said AI.

"Well, gee, nice to see you again too," she stated hotly. She knew she was stalling but she needed the time to gather herself and form a strategy.

"Sorry, Bonnie, it's been a long week for me," Michael sighed, looking down at his hands tiredly. Bonnie looked away. She felt bad for making him feel bad. This situation wasn't entirely his fault, though she was going to place some of the blame there. Still, if anyone should be apologizing it was her. Her silent turmoil was noticeable.

"Are you alright, Bonnie?" KITT asked with concern; a tribute to his compassionate nature and another reason Bonnie reconsidered talking with Michael alone. _They had been so negligent._ She looked up.

"I'm fine, Kitt. It's just, I received some news about the Foundation that I thought you two would be interested in hearing," she said in partial truth; feelings of remorse and anxiety revisiting her mind.

"You mean the fact that never show up Scotty is coming here today?" Michael asked with a glint in his eye. Bonnie was mildly surprised.

"How did you know that?"

"You aren't the only one still plugged into the old grapevine," he said with a smirk. Bonnie gave a sideways glance to the car's windshield.

"So, Kitt told you," she said flatly. Michael's grin grew.

"Yup. I told you I got here on time."

A part of her wanted Michael to take this seriously, but at the same time she didn't want to cause . . . harm. She wished this could just be a pleasant meeting among old friends like it should be. She decided to stall a little longer.

"And how did you know, Kitt? Don't tell me you hacked into the scheduling mainframe?" she accused in that authoritative tone she knew the sensitive computer wouldn't be able to resist rebutting.

"Of course not, Bonnie; I would never do anything like that without due cause. I simply overheard the groundskeeper chatting up one of the program assistants yesterday and I wasn't eavesdropping either. They were loud enough for the whole estate to hear. In fact, they talked for an hour and a half. So much for company time, which reminds me; how can the Foundation still afford a gardener but not a decent mechanic? It's beyond me . . ." KITT supplied.

"Oh," Bonnie replied as KITT continued to speak his peace. There must have been something in her tone as she noticed Michael frown at her.

"Whoa, hold up there, buddy," the man said as he pushed away from the table and stepped closer to her. KITT hushed.

"That's not all you wanted to tell us was it."

Bonnie gave Michael a pensive look, a sign she was thinking over the situation. She felt silly for acting this way, so professional and stiff. It wasn't like they were colleagues still working for F.L.A.G anymore, but it had always been difficult for her to just be casual. In fact, the whole reason for being here was that she thought it would be easier to talk with Michael in person at such a familiar work setting rather than over the phone. Now, she wished she hadn't. It was too close to the issue; an awkward site. What was she thinking?

"Well, I also know why Scott is coming here today," she stated firmly, hoping he wouldn't notice her unease. The look in Michael's eyes told her he wasn't buying it, but for whatever reason, he didn't press the matter.

"Alright, why?" he said frankly.

"You know how the Board has been debating on whether or not to keep the Foundation funded? Tonight is the final meeting to make that decision."

There was a heavy pause, filled with the uncertainty of that statement.

"Are they all coming here in person?" Michael asked with a frown.

"That's what I thought, but according to my source it's just going to be a conference call," Bonnie replied.

"So what; Scotty's office phone is broken and he's going to borrow the mansion's instead?" Michael asked with no small amount of mistrust. He never did like Scott Wellington all that much. He always felt the man was hiding something.

"I also don't understand, Bonnie. Mr. Wellington has never visited the Foundation campus before. Not even for previous negotiations. Why would he come here now after all this time?" KITT asked, sounding truly confused. She bit her lower lip in an unconscious attempt to stop the information she already knew from coming back to remembrance. This next subject was the crux of her distress.

"Kitt . . ." she stopped while staring at the black vehicle, red scanner pulsing at the speed of her own heart. In that moment, she wanted for the AI to run; run far away from here and never look back. _They're going to destroy you!_

"Bonnie?" KITT asked gently.

"Kitt, I . . ." she paused again, shutting her eyes. How could she have been so careless? When she opened them again it was obvious that she was very upset. She witnessed Michael's countenance change as the realization must have hit him. It was all too much. She turned around quickly and began to walk back out of the garage; dampness coming to the corners of her eyes.

She could hear KITT turn over his engine and roll forward maybe a yard or two.

"Bonnie, wait!" he stated in a flustered tone. She quickened her pace, tears rolling down her cheeks. She heard Michael laying a hand on the car's hood.

"I got this, Kitt."

She was already halfway down the drive, knowing she was being pursued. It didn't take long for Michael to catch up to her nor did it take much time for her to dry her tears. He stepped in front of her, effectively blocking her path.

"What's going on here?" he asked, pointing back to give emphasis. She looked up at him with a mixture of anger and sadness.

"Bonnie, please, you have got to fill me in here. If it concerns Kitt I want to know."

"That's just it, Michael. It all concerns Kitt now and it didn't have to. How many times could we have intervened and we didn't?! We just sat back and let this happen to him. I just let this happen to him. Now it could be too late. We were so careless," Bonnie said in a voice laced with guilt. She could see the heaviness reflected in the middle-aged man's eyes. She continued in a hushed tone.

"Rumor has it that Knight Industries is going to cut funding completely. Scott is having a tow truck brought in tonight and a staff meeting at the hotel tomorrow. If all this is true, Michael, Kitt could be on his way to being decommissioned, sold or worse."

Michael frowned, as she placed a hand over her forehead and eyes, trying to hide her anguish again. She hadn't fully realized how much this had been affecting her; how much KITT meant to her. She knew if anyone saw her agonizing over a car she'd be deemed unfit.

"I had a chance to buy him away from Flag five years ago; not the car, but Kitt. There was enough equity in my private investments at the time, but I didn't do it because . . ." she couldn't finish. He gripped her by the shoulders gently and she lowered her hand to look at him.

"Listen, huh? It's not your fault. Even if you had gotten him what would you do with him, store him in the school basement to count ceiling tiles or install him in a tractor to herd cattle on the ranch?" he asked humorously. Bonnie couldn't help but give a small, tired laugh. Michael continued.

"We didn't know all this was going to happen."

She gave him a harder look this time.

"Didn't we?" she said curtly. He sighed.

"Alright, you have a point about us being careless. There were times I could have spoken up. We should have seen this coming and done more, but right now we need to focus on turning this around," he said releasing her as he continued, "Even if I have to steal him and take a slow boat to China we are not going to let anything happen to him, okay?"

She nodded slowly. Even though she knew there was little they could really do the idea of Michael trying to explain the boat metaphor to KITT brought a small smile to her face.

"Do you have any real ideas in mind besides China?" she asked, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand.

"Maybe one, but I don't know if you'll like it."

* * *

_. . . Love is patient . . ._


	2. Chapter 2

_Personal Log: June, Friday_

_. . . And all I have to do is keep them running . . ._

_Sandulf_

* * *

In complete silence, KITT observed a patrol car as it passed by his current location; a darkened hospital parking lot. The surroundings weren't new to him, but the circumstances were. Usually sitting in front of a medical facility meant he was waiting for his human counterpart to recover from some newly acquired injury. Now, he was hiding from the police in virtual blindness due to having his scanners turned off to prevent detection. How had he ended up this way?

Well, for starters, he left the highway. He knew it was risky to leave the interstate for any reason, but the necessity to refuel the car was inevitable. Logically, a station closest to the thoroughfare would have been the wisest choice, but self-service wouldn't do. After all, he couldn't exactly pump his own unleaded. So, full-service gas station it had to be then and he just so happened to find one that had an automatic car wash too. Curse his weakness for cleanliness and undercarriage baths. Nonetheless, distance from the highway was only part of the equation to his current problem.

After being filled with gas he just knew would result in him having to have his tanks purged and being cleaned off in a car wash he felt should have been condemned, there came the little issue of payment. He was already ashamed about leaving the Foundation, but now he would be spending money on said escapade; money that was scarce, to begin with. Yet, he wasn't about to, as the expression went, 'stick it to' the nice, young station attendant either. So two options; use his built-in money dispenser and pray the twenty-something-year-old man wouldn't notice the driverless state of the vehicle when asked to retrieve the cash from the passenger side or give the Foundation's account number to be charged and therefore _traced_ back to him. Here was to hoping his trust in humanity wasn't misplaced. Luckily, his grateful assistant wasn't one to ask too many questions, especially when an excellent tip was given. All seemed well in KITT's world until he did something incredibly counterproductive.

He had communicated back to FLAG how much he had taken out and for what purpose; a hardwired reflex; a force of habit. That simple lapse of judgment could undo everything. He had been so careful; taking back roads, micro-jamming traffic cameras and electronic toll collecting systems, even scrambling his own homing beacon. Now he had basically given away his exact location. How could he have done that? He went into surveillance mode immediately, sweeping phone lines, tapping mobile devices and listening for radio frequencies. Nothing seemed threatening. Maybe he was being a little paranoid. He was over one-thousand miles away from the Foundation and his pit stops only numbered three, one of which was to just recharge and the other to help a family recover a loose pony; thank goodness for high traction drop-downs.

He had pulled into the driveway of the gas station ready to turn in the direction that would lead him back to I-70 when he spotted a police cruiser two miles up the road. He heard over its two-way frequency an APB issued.

" **Be on the lookout for a black 1982 Pontiac Trans Am . . ."**

He had stopped, reversed gear, and backed up behind a sign as the patrol car neared the station. Usually his make and model were an advantage to him. In an investigation, criminals would mistakenly underestimate the older car to their severe hurt and, in preference, he had grown attached to the design, but now his retro frame stuck out like a sore thumb in the midst of newer reproductions. Denial didn't quite suit an AI, but maybe it wasn't him they were looking for. After all, there could be another offending 1980s sports car in the area.

" **. . . with California license plates reading Knight. Report back immediately if located; approach only if necessary and with caution . . ."**

So much for wishful thinking. It was time to act. He had pulled back into the gas station and exited on the other side. He couldn't let them see him. Looking for a less lit area to hide in he had noticed a shadowy place one block down and sped to it thus finding him now quietly sitting in front of a hospital, with most of his systems toned down to keep the lights of his dash low.

The police vehicle went on without incident, but KITT waited a beat before switching his scanner back on and his cloaking mechanisms off. He drew out of his spot near some bushes and steered towards the back of the building to find another exit. He hesitantly turned his headlights on, knowing that if law enforcement saw the car without them he might simply be caught for a simple traffic ordinance anyway. But then, shouldn't he turn his self in? Wasn't that the right thing to do? But that would mean he'd have to go back and he couldn't, no. As long as he didn't receive a direct command to stop by the proper authorities, he could continue to . . . to what? Where was he even going? And why? He shouldn't be doing this, to begin with . . . 'no'.

"All I need to do is reach the highway, undetected, and select a destination that will achieve my goals of both remaining hidden and finding a conclusion to the recent dilemmas," he stated evenly through his voice modulator, having a sudden need to hear his own calm tone. Being 'on the run' was demanding. The unwanted independence so taxing. He was programmed to rely upon human input; so used to taking orders and carrying them out; not making decisions all alone. There were too many options to choose from, each leading to different outcomes and even more choices; choices he wasn't intended to handle on his own.

His engine stuttered and stalled. The desperate need for direction, someone to tell him what to do, was overwhelming. He sat paralyzed with that awareness. The insecurity, uncertainty, indecisiveness . . . it was a nightmare to his logic with no means of working it out. If he went back, they would be in danger. He didn't know-how. That caused confusion _._ If he kept going, all of them would be safer. He didn't know why. That caused frustration _._ Someone had to be behind all this. He didn't know who. That caused alarm _._ If he went back, something terrible could happen. He didn't know what. That caused distress _._ One thing he was certain of; if he did return it would put **them** in harm's way. He wouldn't. That caused resolve.

His engine started with a low rumble. His dominant program of protecting human life would have to serve as his determination; the only human-based guide within him. Grant it, relying on purpose alone with no direct instruction was going to be unbelievably complicated, but it gave him the will to continue. Unfortunately, he still needed to know how he was going to get back to the highway.

Experience would have to answer that quandary. He searched his memory banks, pulling up things he had learned from . . . well, his most resourceful and reckless partner, Michael. In a nanosecond, he listed the capabilities at his disposal; reversible license plates, the ability to locate law enforcement vehicles up to ten miles away, and an engine that could become virtually silent. In the next nanosecond, he activated those functions simultaneously; his license plates now read 'KNI 667' while a route was plotted indicating where police cruisers were, including their speed and headings, as he eased down the road on one whisper of a motor.

Other than a few detours to avoid attention, KITT made it to the intersection leading to the on-ramps without a hitch. However, upon approaching the light, there came a warning up on his monitor. Nestled right behind a guardrail, where the ramp merged with the open highway, sat a state trooper; ready to strike no doubt. KITT slowed down considerably and influenced the traffic lights to change from green to yellow to red, stopping in the left turn lane. How was he going to get past them?

Another query to his memory modules brought up some options which seemed to always involve his first driver. He remembered Michael disguising him as a refugee jalopy on their excursion in Central America once, but that wasn't practical or appealing right now. He could backtrack and try to find other ways onto the road, but there could be similar situations at those locations. Besides, the police were still patrolling and, like in a game of Pac-Man, it would only be a matter of time before they cornered him.

He turned to some of the other devices he had at his disposal for further ideas. He could change his color at will thanks to Tabitha's Light Emitting Inlay, or LEI, woven into his MBS, but it also gave off a glow that would be too eye-catching at night. He could try, with serious reservation, Brian's addition; the SUMPM or Super Ultra Mega Pursuit Mode and outrun the trooper . . . no. First off, it would certainly draw attention and, second, it drained way too much fuel for him to justify now, especially since it was filling up that got him in this trouble, to begin with. If only Bonnie had really toyed around with the idea of making him invisible.

 _There's always Turbo Boost_ he thought sarcastically; more of an inside joke to him than a viable option. He had to come up with something eventually though because even with his ability to hold the light indefinitely a patrol unit was bound to come . . . that's when a large tractor-trailer pulled alongside him in the other turn lane. A car carrier to be exact and, as luck would have it, there appeared to be plenty of empty space in the back. Maybe, this was a job for the ole Turbo Boost after all.

If he could jump up onto the clip without the truck driver noticing and do it before passing the trooper he might be able to ride straight through without so much as a second glance. There was some risk involved, but if he could sail over gorges and plow through cement walls, this should be a piece of cake, as they say.

He waited until the lights changed and allowed the lumbering vehicle to pull ahead of him; by far the hardest part of the whole operation. He positioned himself directly behind the truck, knowing he was now out of the driver's mirrors and view. He adjusted his trajectory guidance system for the exact angle to make the leap and sent the right amount of power needed to the rockets so he wouldn't overshoot his mark. In one expertly calculated move, he launched himself upwards in a burst of power and landed neatly on the inclined spot in the back. The faint echo of _good work, buddy_ played through his processor as he quickly engaged his emergency brake and turned off his lights. Placing the car in park, he sat, keenly aware he was about to pass the state trooper. This was it; three, two, one . . .

The truck zipped by the marked car quickly, but KITT experienced every millisecond as a little eternity. He observed the blue and white lights of the state officer's vehicle reflected in the windshield of the SUV in front of him. His circuitry nearly failed. They spotted him, he must have been too loud, or they knew he was an old car on a new bandwagon. All hope of escape was lost in that moment . . . until he saw the trooper pass right on by him to a yellow 'beamer' that was obviously speeding. A brief sound escaped his speakers; a nervous laugh, if he were human.

 _That was close, pal_ ; another touch from the past. Well, he was safe for now and that counted for something.

**_Three Nights Earlier_ **

The grounds of FLAG's estate were quiet as most of the staff that worked in and around the mansion had gone home for the evening. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary for a Thursday night except for one detail; an altogether welcome yet unfamiliar sedan sitting in the circular driveway. Parked just behind it was an equally unknown but allowed flatbed truck; its plainclothes driver snoozing away in the cabin. Judging by the light shining out one of the mansion's windows, the owner of the car was inside.

Scott Wellington, a man who looked to be in his late sixties with a roundish face and lean build was seated in a large plush leather chair in one of the mansion's second story offices. This would be the first time Scott had ever made an appearance at the estate before, even though he had been head over the Foundation actively for ten years. It was a lovely little piece of property, with a certain allure, but his reasons for never visiting were varied and grave at best. Regrettably, his obligations lead him out here tonight with difficult choices to make. Decades of research, several people's jobs and a man's dream would be riding on this decision and he was feeling the burden of that responsibility tenfold.

He was here expecting a conference call soon; one that had been set up a week prior due to a face to face meeting failing to bear any workable agreement. He started drumming his fingers on the wooden desk; his hand inches from the black office phone; his mind wandering. He believed fully in the work FLAG did. They had done a lot of good work over the years; putting away a lot of criminals who otherwise would have gone free and helping victims get back what they couldn't on their own; a chance. He didn't want to see all this come to an end; not on his watch, not ever.

But, a lot of things had changed over the years; the increased price of equipment, resources and standard of living for one thing and the dwindling amount of finances for another. Fundraisers and charity events just didn't seem to pull in as much as they used to in this economy and Knight Industries had grown tired of footing the difference. He had tried to reason with the board, but they insisted that the money could be put to better use elsewhere and often did just that. The old methods of FLAG were just outdated solutions in a world of better innovations, they'd say.

The board had told him five months ago that the Foundation's funding would be suspended and that they would not sign for another special operative until a decision for further endowment was reached. He was shocked and afraid it might be too late to save what he had promised to uphold. The list of things he should have done differently quickly played and replayed in his mind followed closely by self-doubts. Had he made the right decisions? Could he have done it differently? Would it all end soon? He was faced with this last chance of convincing Knight Industries to keep its long-standing investment by proving another way to raise funds or stood to give everything over to the highest bidder and lose the Foundation as he knew it.

"What have I done?" he sighed miserably. Looking up he noticed the portrait of an older man on the wall. It had a silver plate at the bottom of the frame which read: _Wilton Knight, founder of the Foundation for Law and Government. "One Man Can Make a Difference."_

Scott took in a deep breath. The phone rang. He pressed the speaker button . . .

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen . . ."

The conference began.

Unbeknownst to Mr. Wellington, or his callers, a third party was recording their conversation from an adjacent structure to the main building; a garage to be precise.

KITT was ashamed of himself for eavesdropping. After all, it was illegal, and to listen in on the director of the organization he belonged to no less. On the other hand, so to speak, he was instructed to go into surveillance mode by his friend and former partner, Michael, for this specific purpose. He chose to comply. Technically, he was supposed to only take orders from his current driver, but since the AI had been without one for five months it couldn't hurt to take the advice of a former one he both liked and trusted.

At this point in the 'stakeout', he was alone as Michael wasn't allowed on the grounds after dark. Since the man no longer worked for FLAG he was only permitted there at certain hours and even that was due mainly to the man's stubbornness and persistence to do so. Therefore, KITT would get the 'scoop' about the Foundation's future tonight and recap with Michael in the morning. Of course, this late-night spy mission of theirs didn't go without question. Bonnie pointed out just how wrong it was to listen in on important, sensitive information and just how much trouble they would all be in if discovered.

KITT had been torn between these two significant people from his past; driver and technician arguing their cases like an old married couple would do; like before. In the end, Bonnie lost the vote if only because KITT was already curious as to why Mr. Scott Wellington was coming to the mansion in the first place, considering the man had never visited prior to this. In fact, KITT still didn't even know what the man looked like as Scott had slipped in through the back wearing a heavy overcoat. But, after hearing the man's voice, KITT had a strange notion he had heard Scott before. It was peculiar and, adding to the abnormality of it all, Wellington had invited Bonnie and Michael to a professional banquet being held for staff tomorrow evening. That troubled the AI. For an institution that was struggling with finances, a large dinner party appeared to be a rather frivolous expense.

To what end would it serve?

Plus, he had to admit he was also concerned as to what the purpose of that tow truck in the front was. Bonnie and Michael had been very vague about what he would hear but assured him everything would be fine and not to worry, which made him worry, of course.

Hopefully, he could get some real answers now.

"Let's just skip right on to business. I want Flag's operations to continue," Jennifer Knight's familiar voice said over the line, "but I also know this has to be a unanimous decision and that some things have to change for that to happen."

She actually was one of the main shareholders for Knight Industries and coincidentally headed the company. Her name was no coincidence either as her father had not only created the corporation but founded FLAG. Obviously, her sayso carried weight and her tone reminded everyone of that.

"I'm open to suggestions," Scott said. Another man's voice came over the telephone. He was known as Jay Malloy, a board director for fifteen years and his tone was gruff.

"I say we let the government have the whole thing and cut our losses. They certainly have the resources. I mean let's face it, the nineties aren't coming back. That non-profit stuff just doesn't work in the private sector."

"I beg to differ," a woman named Jocelyn Sanders, a member for five years, said in her very cultured voice, "There is a freelance agency itching to take over this project and though they may be a little on the greenhorn side, they are connected to some groundbreaking work."

"Yes, but the technological advancements in Flag have been phenomenal because of all the testing done in real-world applications. We can't just let that go. In the right hands, it could be quite profitable for us," interrupted a smooth-talking man by the name of Doctor Andrew Phillips; a member of the board for twelve years.

"I believe you're all forgetting why Flag was created. It's here to catch criminals who operate above the law. It's here to help people who have nowhere else to turn. It's here to help provide back-up to law enforcement and government agencies in times of need. If we're tied up in the federal government's administration there won't be room enough to breathe let alone act on an investigation and if it becomes just another private research corporation it will be driven by the bottom line instead of getting the job done," Scott stated. All was quiet for a moment and Mr. Wellington wondered if he had lost them.

"He has a point," a third man, Jonathan Gadson; on the panel for eight years, finally replied in a business-like tone.

"My father started the Foundation for Law and Government because the world had enough corrupt politicians and business professionals to go around and not enough people to stop them . . ." Jennifer added pointedly.

"Look, I understand all that, but, at the end of the day, it all takes money. The fact is we are running a business not operations for James Bond. Maybe we can keep certain aspects of the Foundation, like contracting technology with law and government, but the investigations have to go. At least, if we give it to the Feds the employees could keep their jobs and we would be spared the expense. There would still be investigations; it would just be done differently. That's all I'm saying," Jay stated.

"No, Mr. Malloy, you know as well as I do it's the military who's really interested in this deal and they'll have their eyes on one thing. They see the Knight Industries Two Thousand as a hundred-fifty million dollar investment that they will tear apart for reproduction. Wilton Knight did not want his technology to be used for that purpose specifically and I will not allow it to happen," Scott voiced strongly.

"Besides, if we hand it over to this freelance law enforcement group we could still keep some lucrative economic ties to it and hold some powerful influence over its operations. It would be known as the Knight Foundation, according to the man heading the proposal; a Russell Maddock," Jocelyn interjected.

"Well, my proposal is that we use that technological marvel to 'our' advantage. If we're smart about this, maybe loaning it out to the private sector of research and development for testing would be profitable . . ." Dr. Phillips began.

KITT's mainframe trembled. One side wanted to give him up to become a possible strategic weapon in military hands, another desired to sell him to amateurs for the purposes of a rent-a-cop and the other was to have him dissected under a microscope for earnings. Was the Foundation going to willingly hand him over to 'the highest bidder' like this? Was that all he was useful for now? Is this why that tow truck was out there?!

"We can't do any such thing. The car is supposed to remain secret. It's what gives us the edge over the criminals my people face," Scott stated tersely. KITT detected the genuine concern and anger in Scott's voice and, for some odd reason, it made the AI feel safe.

"Yeah, well its maintenance bill sure is no secret to us," Jay said bitingly.

"I know, but it can be manageable if we look at alternative technologies-" Scott began.

"But that doesn't include the damages caused by it or its drivers, not to mention injuries and paychecks for that matter. In fact, Mr. Malloy may be right. It may just be that side of the Foundation needs to go," Dr. Phillips interrupted. Jennifer sighed.

"Enough. I was really hoping we could reach a consensus tonight. All corporations and institutes have their ups and downs and sometimes it is best to let them go, especially if they mean financial ruin, but what I can say is that the actions of FLAG have personally saved my life, twice, and countless other lives. It hasn't bankrupted us yet nor do I believe it will now. It was built on a dream to make the world a better and safer place for all of us and I won't put a price on that."

Again there was silence, but this time it was charged. KITT had sensed Jennifer's sincerity through the voice analyzer. It had been a bumpy road with her, but he couldn't shake the belief that her father, his creator, would have been proud. He could only hope that her statements hadn't fallen on deaf ears as all the others continued to remain quiet.

Then Jonathan spoke up.

"I've been giving this tremendous thought over the last few months. I would be willing to fund the Foundation for another year, tentatively of course, but only if you will assign me control of the fundraising departments at Flag and allow me to relocate the operations here in Seattle to my existing warehouses. I believe I can turn the support for Flag around in a year and I'll even supply up to thirty-five percent of the general fund from my personal investments if everyone else will agree and pitch in."

The atmosphere changed in drastic ways for all sides considered.

Scott's features brightened. Jonathan's proposal sounded promising. He waited patiently to see how others would respond.

KITT's inward countenance darkened. Jonathan's proposal sounded unsettling. He waited uneasily for the others to reply.

"Thirty-five percent, huh?" Jay said, clearly weighing the offer.

"How would you plan to fix the funding issues?" Dr. Phillips questioned acidly, not as convinced. Jonathan sighed.

"Dr. Phillips, I could draw up some projects and plans to lay out before you by the end of next week if you'd like. I assure you that I have experience in saving bankrupt programs as do you probably, but as Mrs. Knight has pointed out, we are running out of time. Right now I'm just asking for a commitment to try."

"I've already shared my thoughts about keeping FLAG," Jennifer stated.

"I suppose it still keeps our options open, regardless. I'm in," Jocelyn said.

"Well, I'm in as long as you keep that thirty-five percent edge off. Rick and Margaret will like that too," Jay said. Scott outwardly grinned while KITT inwardly shook.

"I intend to," Jonathan replied with a smile in his voice, "And you Dr. Phillips?"

"Fine, yes. I guess Knight Industries will keep the Foundation for Law and Government as a beneficiary, but I only agree for six more months. If I don't see improvement by then, I'm out," Dr. Phillips finally agreed.

"Well, thank you, ladies and gentlemen, of the board for your time and consideration. I will inform the staff about the continued contract once everything is finalized and begin interviewing for a new operative as soon as documents are squared away," Scott said happily.

"We'll send the paperwork to you in the morning . . ." Jennifer went on to explain, but KITT just left his audio surveillance to record as he went into a separate channel to think. His processor was so chaotic at this point. Something was wrong, but he couldn't exactly prove how.

Jonathan Gadson's proposal had to be erroneous, but there was no evidence of it. His own voice analyzer hadn't picked up _any_ stress in the man's tone that would indicate lying. Besides, why would the man lie about something like this? He'd been on the Board for eight years. Plus, FLAG was going to stay. Knight Industries had reached a decision to keep backing the Foundation; that was good news.

 _But that good news was a lie_ he briefly thought. But the evidence directed him otherwise. Perhaps he was just nervous about moving. After all, he didn't want to leave Los Angeles; he didn't want to leave Michael and Bonnie. However, he knew that if he had to he would and Michael and Bonnie would understand and stay in contact, so that couldn't' be it. Maybe his mainframe needed to be examined; it had been a while since he had been serviced. Still, the notion that something was horribly wrong kept pushing in on him.

What if something was wrong? He tried searching up on Jonathan and found nothing incriminating. He tried searching his own memory banks and drew a blank. Theoretically, if nothing was amiss he should have dropped it from his processes, but he couldn't. He needed more flexible data; a human perspective.

The Firebird's engine turned over as the garage door opened remotely, each at KITT's command. The car rolled out onto the gravel path leading to the more permanent brick drive ahead.

Mr. Wellington hung up the phone and stood up to grab his jacket from the coat rack next to the window. He happened to glance out and thought he saw something that could only be described as a gleaming shadow taking flight down the driveway.

* * *

_. . . love is kind . . ._


	3. Chapter 3

_Personal Log: June, Saturday_

_. . . I haven't allowed Wilton's little monstrosity a moment's peace since the old badger died and I'm not going to start now; especially now. That machine may have delayed the inevitable, but I will have my vengeance once all the pawns are in place . . ._

_Sandulf_

* * *

Two in the morning, central time, came far too quickly for KITT. In fact, time seemed to be speeding by at the same rate asphalt was passing under his tires. He hadn't stopped moving since leaving Denver and it was actually the automobile transporter's idea to keep heading east. He had ridden along with it until the driver needed to pull over and rest. Boy, had the trucker been surprised to see an extra vehicle on board; downright stunned when said vehicle backed off the rig and raced down the dusty road. The memory only served to show KITT how wrong this situation was.

Even with his built-up fortitude to see this decision through he was, by nature, a submissive being, possessing a strong sense of justice and a hearty dose of pride. Now, he was choosing to run away from home, hide from the authorities and stow away on the back of tractor-trailers. Inadvertently, his mind's ear could hear Michael chide:

" _You? Skipping town? Running from the law? Hitchhiking?! My how the mighty have fallen . . ."_

_I need to focus on a destination not come up with ways Michael could amuse himself at my expense_ he thought curtly, reducing the voice of his former partner to the background. It always struck him as strange how in his imaginings he would default to Michael's friendly joking or Bonnie's helpful advice; even Devon had a place in corrective scolding. Then again, to even have such imagery, to begin with, was absurd. He was a computer after all and computers didn't envision things; a fact that didn't stop it from happening. He redirected his thoughts.

"Where am I running to?"

He scanned ahead and picked up a road sign reading: _York Next Exit_. He wouldn't access his satellite link for demographics in fear FLAG would be able to triangulate his location, but if he recalled correctly, York was a small town in Nebraska, not far from Lincoln. He couldn't stop here; it was too close to Colorado. The Foundation would soon be searching everywhere within a two hundred mile radius of that state and something deep within him didn't want to be found by the organization just yet. Still, the small city of York's name gave him an idea.

FLAG wasn't going to stop until they recovered him and it would only be a matter of time before they did, but being found wouldn't be a problem if he had time to sort out an answer before going back. Therefore, he needed to travel to a place where he could access a good bank of resources safely and remain under the Foundation's radar for at least another week. Where could he go to be surrounded by free Wi-Fi connections and in the last place anyone would suspect him?

New York City. It was big enough to keep a low profile, tech-savvy enough to tap into plenty of free internet cafes and still a location no one would think him to be at. He regularly emphasized how much he disliked New York City; too noisy with its congested roads having traffic regulations even native New Yorkers couldn't navigate and potholes large enough to swallow cars whole. The memory of Abigail teasingly threatening to buy him an 'I love NY' bumper sticker came to mind. Oh, how he missed her. So many memories in that city . . . maybe he should reconsider . . . no, he was going. He had to.

With a destination finally chosen, a burden relieved for him. All he needed to do now was head towards the Big Apple and address specifics once he got there. However, just as one weight lifted, another pressed down in its place. What transpired around this same time Friday morning was something he wished he could erase, but, at the same time, remember forever. Last Thursday night's phone call at the mansion might have been disconcerting for him, but what took place, later on, was the true reason he had taken off. Curse his expansive memory modules and wandering task directives.

For all his upgrades and advancements there came significant drawbacks; frightening drawbacks. Boredom was the usual foe of his powerful CPU, but the faster he could process information the more connections he could make in supposedly human affairs. It helped in keeping his drivers safe, but it eroded his innocence. Crimes, malice, and fear surrounded him all the time in his line of work. It troubled him that his human counterparts had to always deal with these nightmares of life and even more upsetting for him that he could still be so unaware; so naive. He had witnessed so much evil over the past twenty-two years and yet so much good. Every gesture had meaning and sometimes he couldn't tell what the motive was behind every action because people he was supposed to trust . . .

He felt his processor shutter and quickly adjusted his thinking. He needed to stay focused and figure out his current problem. If he was to come up with a complete picture of events then he would need to revisit Friday's memories, even if he really didn't want to. He rarely experienced such levels of distress; it was tiring. What happened early that morning both touched him deeply and terrified him utterly. Their earnest care for him mixed with his unknown fear of them? No . . . for them, his fear for them not of them . . . why . . . His memories of human emotions; learning the differences between a laugh and a cry; wondering about the similarities between fear and anger and warming up to the thought he might actually possess the ability to . . . no. He didn't want to admit it because, on some base level, he thought that if he could deny it he would be protected from those sensations that have been chasing him for so long.

_Which is completely illogical; plain insanity. I have, as they say, gone off the deep end. Obviously, five months of inactivity and neglect must have placed some of my systems into disrepair without me realizing it_ , he internalized before saying: "I should be heading straight back to the Foundation and having myself fully serviced. So why aren't I heading back?"

He wasn't going to answer himself out loud, (that would be a little bizarre), but he did need a response to that question of why; why couldn't he go back, why was this so confusing, why was he acting this way? Unfortunately, he didn't have a solid answer or a logical reason or even a valid excuse. All he had to go on was supposed to be impossible for him to have and that wasn't good enough. It was time to review his memory banks; hunt down anything he might have missed, no matter how upsetting it might be to do so.

He'd gone to Bonnie's around midnight. He hadn't meant to be such a bother to her so early, but she had been closer to the estate than Michael; it was uncomfortable enough leaving his garage let alone traveling too far away from FLAG's grounds. Seeing as ten years ago he never would have even considered such a move without direct instruction from his driver or the 'powers that be', it was shaping up to be an eventful meeting. At the time, he chalked his behavior up to Michael's returned influence on him, but somehow he knew better than that.

**_Three Mornings Ago_ **

"I'm sorry, Kitt, but I'm not finding anything on Jonathan Gadson and I don't remember him being involved in anything suspicious, at least not while I've been in contact with Flag," Bonnie said to the black T-top currently parked in her two-car garage. She was seated on a collection of boxes she had moved aside earlier to make room for her unexpected visitor. The plastic containers were just odds and ends she hadn't had time to unpack since moving back to Los Angeles, but now they served as an impromptu desk for her. She set her laptop down in favor of a nice cup of hot coffee.

"Are you sure, Bonnie? Have you tried criminal records in foreign districts perhaps?" KITT supplied helpfully. She let out an exasperated sigh.

"Kitt, I've exhausted all the resources I have available to me and he still checks out cleaner than a whistle. You checked all your online databases, right?"

"Double-checked. I couldn't find anything either."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. Am I missing something? Is there more going on?" Bonnie asked worriedly. Why was he so adamant that things weren't okay? His silence did nothing to ease her concern. "Maybe we didn't catch something in the recording. Play it back and we'll see," she offered, setting her cup down.

"No, Bonnie. I'm just sorry I troubled you with this when all the available evidence obviously points to nothing," he stated. Bonnie could practically hear the unspoken . . .

"But . . ." she prompted.

"But, if you insist, I can play it back for us," he said hopefully. She smiled.

"I do insist. Go ahead."

They both listened to the conference call KITT had tapped into at the Foundation; reliving moments of anger and fear they experienced the first time around. However, by the end of it the Foundation was staying and so was KITT; much to Bonnie's relief. Scott was even going to have KITT brought to the hotel for the banquet and announcement. There was the little matter of the whole organization moving to Seattle, but it sounded like Jonathan would be taking care of things not making them worse.

Nevertheless, she noticed the red scanner on the car's prow racing back and forth; an uncontrollable practice the computer had when anxious. He was still frantically processing, trying to attain more data.

"What is it, Kitt?"

"I don't know. Something is wrong about this, Bonnie, but I have no proof to back up my statement," he said in frustration and a hint of embarrassment.

"So in other words, you're saying you have a bad feeling about this," she said with a raised eyebrow. She knew the AI would deny it. In three, two, one . . .

"No. I'm thinking my voice analyzer must be operating improperly and my readings were off. That must be the problem," he said matter of factually. Yup, it never seemed to fail. If the prospect suited him, KITT would show a whole array of emotions ranging from offended to overjoyed, but let it confuse him or touch that ever so sensitive ego of his and it was the impassive, aloof computer bit. Oh, well, she'd go along with it for now.

"How about I have a look at your systems and see?" she offered standing up and approaching him. Without the slightest hesitation, the hood to the vehicle rose up while the driver's side door swung open.

"I thought you'd never ask," he said happily. Bonnie sighed. She couldn't believe she just played into KITT's ploy of getting a free diagnostic.

"You're incorrigible, you know that right?"

"I do," he replied with a touch of mischief in his tone. She couldn't help but smirk and shake her head. Truth was, she had been itching for an opportunity to peek under the hood and with that, she quickly walked over to her toolbox. The examination would be brief but appreciated. Bonnie didn't have all the tools necessary to do a thorough check-up considering some of the newer functions in the car were on a nanoscale, but she would do her best and that was just fine with KITT. For the most part, she was just spot-checking most things and running simple maintenance on others while he voiced his contentment and suggestions. Officially, she could get into trouble for just having KITT there let alone working on him, but it was worth the risk to Bonnie. It was a chance for her to see with her own two eyes and hands how the AI had been treated. After a few moments, she received her answer.

"These caps are tight and look at all this debris. There's even corrosion buildup on some of your casings and the lubricant on the O-rings is dissolving. When's the last time they checked all your fluids Kitt or cleaned up?" she asked in a dissatisfied tone. KITT could tell she was upset.

"Well, it has been a very tumultuous time lately and . . ." he hesitated, not wanting to worry her any further. But Bonnie still had a way of 'coaxing' information from the AI even after all these years.

"Out with it, Kitt!"

"The last time my systems were checked over was about four weeks ago, but I haven't had a full inspection or cleaning in over three months," he said in a reserved manner.

"Four weeks?! Three months?! That's ridiculous Kitt! I know they don't have a lead engineer, but they still have techs. As much punishment as you take they should have been doing a heck of a lot more than just basic maintenance once a week and they couldn't even do that? This . . . this is inexcusable! Kitt, why didn't you tell me the last time I was at the mansion?" she voiced angrily while forcefully pulling out the stiff dipstick. He internally cringed.

"I'm sorry, Bonnie. We were preoccupied yesterday and the last time you visited I was only overdue by a week; hardly anything to bother you with at the time especially since you had that important paper to work on. Besides, I haven't seen much action here lately," he said humbly. Bonnie sighed. She hadn't meant to get upset with him. After all, it really wasn't his fault; if anything she should have asked.

"No, it's okay, Kitt. It doesn't look like any lasting damage was done. Thanks for helping me with that paper by the way. It was well received by the journal and I'm working on the second study now," she said happily, wiping some fluid off on a clean rag nearby and starting her own tune-up process.

"Congratulations, I'm glad to hear that. If you need any more help . . ."

"I'll know right where to go, though when I listed you as a source last time I had to explain, a lot."

"Academia's still not considering artificial intelligence a viable reference?"

"Afraid not."

"Pity, I think I could offer quite a bit to the scientific community," KITT said with pride evident. Bonnie couldn't help but smile. She missed working so closely with the AI; the openness she could have with him was refreshing.

"I know the kids at the university would love to get hands-on experience with you, Kitt. Mm, it looks like they've added several new components here since I last worked on you," Bonnie stated as she came around to the driver's seat to check on the internal devices. She was surprised to see how much had changed; how everything was so concise and compact. Completely different from the flashing lights and dial buttons of the eighties and early nineties.

"Seventy-two to be exact; upgrades mostly. I will admit, Evelyn did a fine job in redesigning the interior cabin. I'd like to see Michael compare it to Darth Vader's bathroom now," KITT quipped. She looked to the vanishing bars of light on the voice box located just above the steering yoke; one of the few things that hadn't changed. It served as a visual queue for when the AI was speaking, but more often than not it provided a focal point to direct questions to.

"You mean he hasn't tried to sneak a peek inside you?" Bonnie asked with genuine surprise in her voice. Michael was well known for his 'inquisitive' nature; part of being a good investigator and all that. She was sure he visited KITT a few times. She couldn't imagine him skipping over the opportunity to climb back in the driver's seat time and again, unless, it was never presented.

"No, he hasn't," the computer said quietly.

"So, he never asks and you never offer," she stated bluntly.

Silence met her reply. It was poignant, but the reasoning behind it wasn't beyond her. Time had a strange way of changing things; she decided to leave it at that. Continuing on with evaluations in her own contemplative quiet, Bonnie moved from the driver's seat to the hood to under the car until she was satisfied.

"Well, Kitt, it looks like everything's in order. Run another diagnostic just to be safe," she said.

"Of course," KITT said with little enthusiasm. Bonnie frowned. He sounded so . . . dejected. She had to admit, part of the reason she started visiting KITT in person again was because of how depressed he sounded in their correspondences. He seemed to have brightened up over the past few months, but now he sounded as despondent as before. Her heart ached, but the confusion over this whole situation weighed more heavily on her mind.

"Anything?" she asked.

"No," he replied flatly. She sighed. At this point, her rational side told her she should say everything's fine, direct KITT to head back to the Foundation and wait for the new transitions to take place. Instead, she turned, walked into the house, retrieved her cordless phone and came back out to the garage.

"I'm calling Michael," she voiced, dialing the number from memory.

"Don't do that, Bonnie. It's already two-thirty in the morning and I regret waking you up for apparently no reason. I don't want to bother Michael too. He never seems to get enough rest as it is," KITT said quickly; fretfully. She held the device to her ear.

"He might know something we don't, Kitt. You came out here because something's bothering you and we're going to figure it out. Besides, knowing Michael, he's probably not asleep yet anyway," she said calmly, though her insides were turning.

One exasperating phone call and restless forty-five-minute wait later lead to the appearance of headlights in Bonnie's suburban home driveway. She opened the side door of the garage and met Michael out on the walk with a cup of much-needed coffee, skipping the unnecessary pleasantries. He accepted the caffeine with a tired smile.

"Thanks. I'm guessing we're in here, right?" Michael said before taking a sip. Bonnie nodded as she stepped back inside. He did the same noticing the cardboard boxes and plastic tubs lining the walls. It was the first time he had been in here, having only visited twice before. A familiar whooshing sound pulled his focus from the clutter to the sleek, black car centered in the space. He shook his head in mild disbelief. Only KITT could get him out here to an old colleagues' house at three in the morning with an explanation as vague as 'you have to listen to this.'

"Well, I made it here . . ." Michael began.

"And I see you took your jeep this time. The 1956 Chevy not an early riser?" KITT asked with mock innocence; the rib it was meant to be not lost on the tall man.

"Haha, real funny, pal, but I still love that car and she's a heck of a lot more fun at burger joints then you ever were," Michael shot back. Bonnie couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"Yes and judging by your physique, you may have been frequenting those establishments too much as of late."

"Okay, Kitt, that's just a low blow. You're not exactly top of the line anymore either."

"Well, I could agree with you, but then we'd both be wrong."

Bonnie snickered, but cut it off sharply when Michael set his coffee mug down on a nearby box hard. He lifted his hands up to his waist, almost defensively.

"I can't believe this," the man said with a mix of real irritation, "Did I get up at this God-forsaken hour to be heckled about my car and looks?"

Silence, then . . .

"I'm sorry, Michael. I do appreciate you coming all the way out here. I know it's early," KITT said quietly as his scanner rolled to one side and blinked out. The man let out a small breath of air and lowered his arms; he really was becoming cranky in his old age.

"Nah, forget it, Kitt. I'm just tired that's all. It is early, I'll give you that much," he said a little more good-naturedly, trying to soothe the tense atmosphere created. He really hadn't meant to snap at the AI. After all, egging each other on was just something they did and used to do, especially when under a lot of stress. Sometimes it was the only way to stay sane in each other's company for those long stints of time they had to. In fact, it was Michael who usually stirred the pot first and then it occurred to him; KITT had thrown the first jab. It may have been a while since he worked with the state of the art computer, but Michael could still read aspects of his old partner's mood and KITT appeared to embody nervous tension.

"Kitt and I want you to listen to the conference he recorded last night and then give us your thoughts on it," Bonnie stated as she pulled up a tub, indicating for Michael to sit down. He gave her a curious look. Why couldn't this have waited until later this morning like the original plan? Heck, Bonnie hadn't even been on board with this whole eavesdropping idea, to begin with, so, why the sudden interest? He was about to voice his opinions when she gave him a knowing glance that said 'just shut up and do it, okay'. He plopped down on the bin and turned his attention back to the Trans Am.

"Alright, Kitt, let's have it."

The same recorded dialogue filled the garage once again. Similar reactions Bonnie had earlier played across Michael's features followed by some she hadn't, but by the end of it, his reaction carried the same amount of relief. There was no such reaction from the AI. KITT's scanner seemed to thrash in time to a rocket launch; his processor humming loud enough for both Michael and Bonnie to hear. Obviously, KITT was upset.

"Is there something I'm missing?" Michael asked pointedly. There was a pause longer than there should have been.

"No, Michael, there isn't,'" KITT said in such a hollow tone that both humans gave each other worried glances.

"I don't get it then. What's wrong? It sounds like they're going to keep the Foundation going? Unless this Jonathan guy is bad news," Michael said, his eyes clouding with mistrust. Bonnie shook her head.

"No, Mr. Gadson checks out fine. Even Kitt can't find anything wrong with him and the corporations he's worked for in the past are legitimate. He's been on the board for eight years," she stated.

"Please, something isn't right! You must believe me . . ." KITT voiced in such a desperate manner it appeared to startle the AI himself as he abruptly stopped. For a moment, Bonnie and Michael sat in silence until the latter broke it.

"Was he lying?" he directed his question to KITT. A few slow treks of the car's scanner followed.

"My voice analyzer didn't pick up any indication he was. None of the parties to that conversation were being deceitful, though Mr. Wellington was understandably upset and Dr. Philips likewise agitated," KITT answered in his calm, calculated tone; a betrayer of his attempt to disconnect from the situation. Michael and Bonnie knew this and Michael decided to act on past experience.

"Well, don't tell me you're afraid to move to Seattle," he stated dryly, trying to bait the AI into becoming indignant and possibly more talkative; a dirty trick he knew, but quick and effective.

"Technically, I can't be afraid of anything, you know that, Michael. I would go to Anchorage, Alaska if that's what was required of me," KITT stated with obvious aggravation. The tall man leaned forward, anticipating the long explanation his old friend would rattle off any second now, but instead . . .

"I apologize for disturbing you, Michael, Bonnie. As much as I don't like to admit it, I must have been mistaken. This clearly could have waited until later this morning and, evidently, everything appears fine. Hopefully, you're enjoying the coffee," KITT said pleasantly. The bait was taken, but the hook was untouched. The man narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah, and, evidently, you're trying to change the subject. Care to explain why that is?"

Silence.

"Answer me, Kitt! Five seconds ago you were begging something was wrong and now it's fine. Why am I out here at three in the morning if everything's fine?!"

"Three-thirty three actually . . ."

"Whatever!"

"I'm sorry . . ." KITT said softly.

Bonnie could see this wasn't going to end well and decided to step in.

"Michael, could you come with me for a few minutes, please," she asked, opening the door leading back into the house while nodding her head in the direction of the car, "We'll be right back, Kitt."

There was no room for argument in her tone. The man gave another irritated glance towards the windshield of the Pontiac before reluctantly standing up and following Bonnie inside. They went through a short hallway which doubled as a laundry room before turning the corner into the kitchen. She gestured for him to continue on to the adjoining living room while she poured more coffee into her mug. Michael found the blue armchair he sat in last time he was here and rubbed a hand over his face. KITT was freaking out and wouldn't tell them why. It really was too early for this.

"Would you like some more coffee?" Bonnie offered, trying to relieve the tension. It worked.

"Sure, why not? You know, this will be the second time in a row you've called me up early in the morning," he said with no animosity in the statement. He too wanted a lighter atmosphere.

"Yeah, well I'll try not to let it become a habit," Bonnie said in her dry humor as she walked over with another cup for him. Michael gave out a short laugh as he took it.

"That or I'll need to start turning my phone off at night. Good coffee by the way," he mentioned as he took a sip. She smiled.

"Thanks, it's not what I usually drink but I figured I would need something stronger to stay up . . . wait, here I am talking about coffee. It really is getting late or early or whatever."

"Tell me about it."

"I'm sorry, Michael, but you're the one who put him up to this, remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

"When Kitt came by at twelve I was just as confused as you were. . ."

"Twelve?! You've been up since then?"

"It's no big deal; I've graded papers until four. Anyway, when he first got here he seemed to be adamant Jonathan wasn't being truthful, but he couldn't give me a reason why, so we reviewed the recording and checked databases. We found nothing and he admitted there was nothing, but then he insisted we check again, so we did. There was still nothing. Then he wanted me to look over him and make sure he wasn't malfunctioning," Bonnie stated in all seriousness. Michael seemed to digest what she was saying with concern.

"Is he okay?" he asked.

"As far as I can tell, yes. I don't have all the equipment necessary to do a thorough check. There were a few minor mechanical issues, but for all intents and purposes everything is working properly," she explained.

"Let me guess, he was still not convinced so you called me?"

"Sort of. I think he's trying to convince himself everything's okay, but he can't. He's so upset and I . . . I'm upset too. I thought everything was going to be fine, but he's acting like they're going to dismantle him tomorrow. I called you because I'm not sure about any of this anymore. I wanted a second opinion," Bonnie admitted, the heartache in her voice unmistakable. Michael nodded in understanding. He knew how upset about KITT she was to start with.

"It's okay, Bonnie . . ."

"I don't know, this all sounds crazy. Maybe I'm crazy," she said in a tone of voice that Michael didn't like. She bowed her head.

"Don't say that. You're not crazy," Michael stated solemnly. He knew she was starting to slip back into that same distraught mindset from yesterday. She gave a slow nod as he sighed. This was supposed to help clear up the issue and give them both some peace of mind, but now he felt like they opened up a can of peace eating worms. He needed to go over the facts so far.

KITT was normally the reasonable one; at least anytime he had interacted with him. Gather concrete evidence, research solid facts, come to a workable solution to the problem; all very logical; all very KITT. What Bonnie had described to him and what he'd seen firsthand was almost absurd; defending a dilemma with no proof, running out in the wee hours of the morning seeking advice while deviating from a set plan, backing down from said argument and picking fights; so unlike his old rational partner. However, it did sound an awful lot like someone in distress. KITT was sensing something amiss even though there was nothing the computer could do to prove it . . .

"Okay, so Kitt _feels_ something's wrong," Michael finally said. Bonnie seemed to weigh that thought in her mind for a moment.

"Yes, I think so, but you know how sensitive he is about that topic. Sometimes it's hard to tell."

"Well, why else would he come out here? He had to _feel_ it was pretty urgent to bother us with it now."

"I don't know, Michael, and he either can't or won't tell me. Kitt has certainly grown over the last few years and he's become a heck of a lot more independent than I remember, but he'll deny every bit of it. If I say, you feel something's wrong, he wants to change the subject and if I say, okay it's fine, he won't let the subject drop . . . maybe there is something internally wrong with his systems or he really is upset about moving to Seattle; I just don't know. I guess I should just have him go back to the Foundation, but . . . I wish I knew what to do," Bonnie stated as she placed her mug down on the coffee table.

Michael looked across to her briefly before turning his gaze back to his half-empty cup. The ideas trying to gain momentum in his mind were being met with the resisting winds of past decisions. He had set this life down a long time ago and had no intention of picking it back up again, absolutely none. But this was KITT, not a case for the Foundation or an investigation for business, just KITT. This should be treated as a favor for an old friend and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Bonnie watched as his demeanor changed. He was up to something.

"What are you thinking?"

He looked back up at her with an elfin grin.

"I'm thinking we need to do a little bit of digging."

"But, Michael, we can't," Bonnie said, surprised more than anything. Here was a man who had sworn off this kind of 'work' for good and now he was willing to start up again.

"And why not?" he responded in the same tone, almost astonished he was going to do it too.

"For one, we don't have any real reason to. There's no proof anything's wrong. Even considering all the rumors, what we just heard from the conference basically explains them all," Bonnie started.

"All I want to do is go up and talk to a few people. Maybe Scotty knows more about this?" he suggested as he set his mug down a little faster than he meant to. Some of the coffee spilled out on his hand and he drew it back quickly.

"This isn't the nineteen-eighties, Michael," Bonnie stressed as she handed him some tissues from a nearby tissue box. "You can't just go up to the Foundation and start asking questions without a reason. Plus you and Scott don't exactly have the best of relationships. If you went up there and started in on him, he'll begin to wonder how you know so much," she said coolly. He didn't want to admit it, but she was right. He couldn't just go up and ask about something he shouldn't know anything about. Still, it didn't deter his desire to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering KITT.

"Well, what if one of them knew we were listening in already and staged the conference call?" Michael began, knowing how stupid that sounded. He was grasping at straws and Bonnie was about to burn them.

"Well, for our sakes let's hope not. Eavesdropping is a very serious crime and phone tapping is even worse. Not to mention, we recorded it, Michael. Uh! How did I let you talk me into this?!" she exasperated, "For what it's worth, I don't think the phone conference was _staged_ , but Kitt is still upset about it. Maybe, we shouldn't have done this."

"Wait, the banquet's Friday night. That's it! I could ask then; I mean it will be common knowledge by that point and I can't get in trouble seeing as I was invited," he smiled.

"That could work. It's probably what we should have done in the first place," she reasoned, calm returning to her voice, "but what if we don't find anything?"

"We'll worry about that when we get to it-," Michael was interrupted by the sound of metal scrapping past metal and a familiar mechanical hum. Bonnie jumped up.

"The garage door!" she exclaimed as she shot off down the hall, followed by Michael. Before even reaching the laundry room, the pair heard the recognizable turbine engine roar to life. "Kitt, no!"

Bonnie swung open the door and Michael bolted past her as fast as he could towards the . . . stationary Pontiac.

"What's going on buddy?" Michael asked breathily, just as the trolley to the garage door connected with the gearbox.

"I was just thinking I should get back to the Foundation, Michael. It is becoming rather early and I certainly wouldn't want to be discovered missing," KITT said evenly as he quieted his engine to silent mode.

"And you were going to leave without saying goodbye?" the tall man asked sharply, the disappointment evident in his voice.

"No, I knew you and Bonnie would come out at the sound of the garage door opening. Those things aren't known for their subtlety. I didn't mean to alarm you, however," the AI replied.

"We were only going to be a few more minutes, Kitt," Michael began, but Bonnie placed a gentle hand on the man's shoulder as a gesture of patience. She knew when she was tired and upset there was very little productive conversation to be had and she assumed Michael was the same way.

"That's okay, Kitt. I think you should head back to the Foundation too. We can talk more about this tomorrow morning," she said in a level-headed tone, causing Michael to fold his arms across his chest in agitation.

"I believe you mean this morning. It's almost four am," KITT corrected only to receive irritated glares from both of them. His scanner flashed.

"Sorry. Goodnight," he bid them as he backed out of the garage slowly, careful to avoid Michael's jeep in the driveway.

"Goodnight, Kitt," Bonnie said as she watched the retreating Trans Am. She then turned her attention to Michael, who was still looking miffed.

"There's no sense in discussing something we aren't going to do anything about until this evening, right?"

There was a short pause as he looked down at her tired face. He must have reflected the same exhaustion as she let out a worn-out sigh.

"Yeah, I guess," he relented, unfolding his arms.

"Alright then. One more thing for you to do."

"And what's that?"

"Choose between driving all the way back home or sleeping on an overstuffed couch."

* * *

_. . . It does not envy . . ._


	4. Chapter 4

_Secure Telephone Conversation: Sunday 9 am_

" _Look, I know about the car missing. You said it would be available for me by today."_

" _I said it would be ready, but not when."_

" _I've already invested a lot into this; up to my neck. The least you could do is answer my questions directly."_

" _You'll have the car as soon as it's recovered, Doctor."_

" _Well, if it can't be recovered in the next 24 hours, I'm out. And don't think I won't inform the Board to save my own skin because I promise you, I will. I'm not going down for you."_

* * *

Hindsight is 20/20. Better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission. A stitch in time saves nine. These were all expressions he knew well enough and now proved truer than ever. If he had addressed the latter he wouldn't be stranded in the outskirts of Chicago trying to recharge his drained power packs. If he had ignored the second one, he wouldn't have listened in on Bonnie and Michael's conversation Friday morning. If he could enlist the help of the first, he would already know the answer to his dilemma. Oh, well, live and learn, as the saying goes.

Around noon, KITT had nearly run out of the necessary energy to control the car's functions which would have rendered him immobile. To be fair, it wasn't entirely his fault that he let the levels drop so low. Construction work and a few bad accidents forced him to take more detours than he had counted on. There was also the matter of taking a few back roads to avoid being spotted by highway cameras; lucky for him April reinstalled the aquatic synthesizer or he would be windshield high in Lake Coralville. Anyhow, this all led him to the Windy City. He was actually parked next to a public golf course in East Chicago; only a short jog from I-80.

So far, no one had bothered the Trans Am with the funny roof panels which were actually his reversible solar cells; Bonnie had installed them right before leaving the Foundation. In any case, people walked on by without giving it a second thought, which was fine with KITT. He didn't feel like dealing with car enthusiasts or car thieves. Normally, he would play some classical favorites of his to pass the time, but that would only serve to remind him he wasn't waiting for his partner to finish up an investigation inside. But then, his mind was on troubled thoughts anyway; past information he desired to forget but had to remember.

He shouldn't have eavesdropped on Michael and Bonnie Friday. It was wrong of him but, from a data standpoint, it was justifiable. Either way, it had been so hard to ignore their murmuring voices. He wanted answers, advice, the truth and they were talking about it without him. At the time, it seemed reasonable to monitor the conversation, but, in light of what he got from it, he was now paying for his intrusion.

Bonnie's stress levels had been extremely high and now he knew exactly why. He was the source of her grief. Not intentionally of course, but he hadn't realized how heavily his well-being weighed on her conscience. Here she was getting good news the Foundation was going to keep operating and he was going to be safe and he had to come along and insist the hopeful report was a lie. Even though it didn't change his sense of something amiss, it added to his guilt. He never meant to cause Bonnie pain, ever, but the warmth of her concern was surrounded by some untouchable dread he couldn't explain. He didn't want it there, but it was all the same just like the other consequence of his prying; hearing Michael decide to pick up just one more case for his sake. It was more than the AI could bear.

KITT remembered how hard it was for the man to finally leave the Foundation, to begin with, and how hard it still was. For his part, KITT promised himself he would never trouble Michael with the prospect of coming back. He wanted his friend to be happy and above all safe, even if it sacrificed his own contentment and . . . purpose. Michael was already getting older and acquiring more injuries than any human being should. It only seemed right that he retire and KITT had even fought to make that possible. But he knew in keeping contact with Michael, the man would constantly be reminded of the 'good old days'. The lure of coming back would always be there even though Michael Knight had wanted to leave this life behind.

To maintain a friendship, KITT had to let go of the partnership. Bonnie had wondered why Michael never saw the upgraded cabin or asked about the new features or swapped old case stories. It had been the AI's choice; a way of protecting his former partner from the temptation of joining him again. He didn't want to see Michael get hurt or worse, which was why he . . . must have run away.

"That has to be it," KITT said aloud, drawing the attention of a passing groundskeeper. The computer ignored the perplexed human as he thought about his new revelation. Michael wanted to investigate this issue and could possibly get hurt doing so, therefore in an effort to avoid that he left; problem solved.

No, it wasn't that simple. His countenance darkened.

Logically, all Michael wanted to do was ask Mr. Wellington some questions, not exactly life-threatening, but KITT still felt their lives were in danger. He needed to figure out why Michael had to ask those questions, to begin with. He had to find out what was wrong with Jonathan Gadson's proposal or why he thought something was wrong. It was just so difficult. He should have been able to recall everything without hesitancy so a true analysis of his actions could get underway, but something was cutting him off; blocking his attempts. Of course, he had no trouble remembering the expressions on his friends' faces when he begged them to trust him.

He was still disgusted with himself for that outburst, acting in such an infantile manner; pleading in a way he'd only heard overexcited children employ. He recalled Bonnie and Michael; their features as suspicion melted from their faces. They believed in him, however short-lived it was; they trusted him. Then they looked conflicted. It was as if they were silently saying 'we want to trust you but we have to be sure first, please, understand'. Well, of course, he understood; they had a right to be cautious didn't they. He was a computer and computers could do a lot of things; reason, calculate, organize, store data, etcetera. They could be accurate, reliable sources of information, but they could also be defective, and that logically lead to something he agonizingly knew computers could never be, wholly trusted. It hurt.

Yes, he understood their concern, but curse it, when he witnessed their guards go back up he wished he was something else . . . or maybe he should have just been better. A normal computer wouldn't be worried or anguished like this, or, at least, that's what most would believe he supposed. The people he's been working with lately saw him that way. An advanced artificial intelligence unit able to maintain a neutral, unbiased position on the process of handling situations; just an impartial dealing of the facts. He tried for the past ten years to emulate their ideals of what a supercomputer should be, what he was supposed to be, but he secretly couldn't or maybe he didn't want to.

The fact Michael and Bonnie questioned his judgment based on how he 'felt' had to prove something was different. His identifying with being a computer was blurred. They always seemed to have that effect on him, Michael and Bonnie. He could be himself, ask questions, joke with or complain to them, even make mistakes and they accepted him. They weren't the only ones, but they certainly were the first. He was unique and special to them, he was one of a kind; a very familiar feeling; often a disconcerting one. That's why when some mechanical issue like a shorted circuit or a burnt-out transistor wasn't the problem, it was so demoralizing for him. It meant something had to be mistaken with the core of his software design, his being.

When Bonnie went over his systems, they performed flawlessly. She was thorough and he knew that. In fact, it had been such a long time since anyone last looked at him and to have someone as skilled and knowledgeable as Bonnie inspect his circuits and mechanisms was a blessing, especially with his improved preceptors. The only human equivalent he could liken it to be was having a mind-freeing meditation session with a body soothing massage at the same time; a real answer to soul-filled prayer. Another aspect he enjoyed and found unique to Bonnie was her caring nature towards him. Unlike others who had been under his hood, she always considered him when making adjustments, consulting him like a doctor would a patient. It had always been refreshing and Friday was no different. But this was all beside the point.

The whole belief that his behavior could simply be explained by a matter in hardware was gone replaced by the overwhelming fear that it was faulty programming. It would be unforgivable if he placed the Foundation in jeopardy because . . . well, what if he had a virus? Or a series of executables that would have him doing things he was unaware of? How would he even know what he was doing? Was it wrong or right or harmful? What if this was out of his power to manage? How could he trust himself?

His scanner, along with every other sensor built into the car, heightened its activity. The increased input gave him a sense of control, though the exact opposite was true. He could hear his fans rotating rapidly and sense his CPU warming up; indicators of overclocking his systems. He could smell the sterile environment of his cabin; a reminder of how little he was needed at the Foundation. He could see some of the golfers trying to hit their marks all in infrared, x-ray and natural light; no friend in sight. He was starting to really heat up and quickly reaching dangerous temperatures.

" **Cool it. I'm trying my best . . ."**

KITT switched on his extra cooling systems immediately and toned down his other sensors as the familiar urban voice entered his radio transmission surveillance. Was that Reginald?

" **He might not even be listening . . ."**

KITT almost couldn't believe it; it was RC III. He knew the man had returned to Chicago in pursuit of a more active role in law enforcement, but RC hadn't stayed in touch the same way Michael and Bonnie had. The last he heard of the zealous young man was through Devon fifteen years ago.

'Reginald has been working his way up through the Police Department there' he remembered the old English accent. He wondered briefly if RC still rode his wounded dirt bike around or if he had upgraded to a proper motorcycle.

KITT’s systems slowed more until he was jarred again. Did RC say Michael?

" **No, I didn't hear anything yet . . . I'll try again. Kitt, if you can hear me, please, come to the twenty-fifth district. The Foundations' looking for you . . ."**

Obviously, FLAG was still looking for him. Did they know he was in Chicago? He hadn't given off any transmissions had he? Did the APB catch up with him? He increased his scanner range to pick up more radio signals, but only heard the run of the mill jargon one heard on two-ways. In fact, now that he compared the two broadcasts he could see the slight differences in frequency. RC wasn't using an official channel. It would appear FLAG was trying to keep his disappearance under wraps; a wise move, considering he was a multi-million dollar piece of technology in most’s eyes. So, a message only he would be picking up; clever. But something in the man's voice told him this wasn't official but personal . . . it hurt.

" **Michael and Bonnie are worried sick about you . . . Michael just wants to talk . . . if you're listening, please, head to the police station or at least answer . . ."**

KITT stopped the receiver, cutting the audio feed; proverbially covering his ears. He didn't want to hear this; he wishes he hadn't heard this. RC sounded so concerned. He hadn't seen the man in years and yet RC sounded so worried over him. Why hadn't they listened to him? He told Bonnie he didn't want to disturb Michael and he told them both to just forget the whole thing. It's not like they cared over the last fourteen years anyway . . . where did that come from? No, it wasn't their fault, it was his.

He had decided to leave the Foundation, he had decided to eavesdrop on private conversations and he was choosing not to listen. Now he was upsetting his friends even more. They were worried, they were looking for him, they wanted him to come back and he couldn't. He didn't want to be in this position anymore. One of his base principles was to take orders not to make choices, but his resolve to figure out this dilemma on his own was set. He had never considered himself stubborn, though others told him often times he could be, yet he wasn't going to move from this decision even though it was tearing his processor apart. He remembered if he went back they would be in danger and he couldn't allow that.

**_Last Friday Morning_ **

_Bring. Bring_

Michael groaned. Bonnie's couch didn’t seem to like his joints. He rolled over to face the sofa's back, trying to avoid the sun streaming through the living room blinds.

_Bring. Bring._

He rolled back over quickly. That was a telephone.

_Bring. Bring._

He sat up just as he heard footfalls in Bonnie's bedroom. He rubbed at his face for a moment waiting for the next ring.

_Bring. Bring._

He glanced across to the digital clock display on the overhead range; 7 o'clock. He wondered briefly who was calling and why so early?

_Bring. Bring._

He watched as Bonnie came out of her room in a half-dazed rush. Her attire consisted of a hastily thrown on blue robe, tan slippers and gray pajama pants.

_Bring. Bring._

_Thump._

He couldn't help but chuckle a bit as she fumbled with the cordless phone. She gave him a sleepy glare before hitting the accept button and placing the device to her ear.

"Hello," she said groggily. Michael yawned and stretched before pulling back the blue comforter Bonnie had given him earlier. He was still dressed in his day clothes, but they were in pretty sore shape; a crumpled green polo shirt and blue jeans. He pulled on the ends of his shirt a little to straighten it out; half-listening to Bonnie's end of the conversation.

It sounded like someone she knew, considering whomever it was called so early and Bonnie wasn't upset about it. This led him to believe it might be one of her USC colleagues. He knew she was a professor at the University and a member of the research board of sciences there. She also co-founded an organization in the development of technological systems for everything from personal computers to space shuttles. She was quite the busy bee. She even owned a ranch and ran a wildlife foundation out of Montana somewhere. However, he didn't really know all the ins and outs of what she did; not like he used to anyway.

He sighed. His distance from her, the Foundation and even KITT were mostly his own fault. He hadn't stayed as connected with this life as much as he probably should have. It wasn't that he disliked the people he'd worked with or distrusted FLAG's new leadership, though he used that excuse often. It wasn't even a resentment of Wilton Knight's decision to interfere with his life. It was just his nature to move forward and never look back. That trait, after all, had been what gave him the ability to become Michael Knight in the first place, although, he had to admit, leaving the life of Michael Long had made such transitions easier to do. Maybe the word was tolerable, not easier.

Either way, he had retired from the hectic world of crime-busting to enjoy a quieter life filled with the pursuit of happiness . . . Aw, who was he kidding; trouble seemed to follow him everywhere and delight came more in the form of his work and Chevy; not entirely what he'd envisioned.

Anyhow, he was pretty sure Bonnie had kept better contacts with the Foundation than he had. Shoot, she was the one who always called him first. He only kept up with KITT nowadays and had stayed in touch with Devon while the older man was alive. It was still unbelievable for Michael to think of Devon being gone. His former boss was so determined, hard-working and intrepid that it just felt like the man could have stared death down and told it to take a number, he's busy. But Michael had known the reality; Devon had been sick. The stately man's health had seemed to be slowly waning as he worked less and less and planned more and more. Finally, in the end, it had been expected, but difficult.

Michael still didn't like to think of the day he heard the news of Devon Miles' passing. He had been out fishing all day when he’d returned home to voice messages ranging from Jennifer Knight's candid condolences, apologizing for the loss of such a great person, to Bonnie's protected professionalism, preferring to talk to him in person, to finally KITT's timorous turmoil, his old partner beckoning him, needing him. All he could do was listen to the messages over and over again, numb with shock and grief. Maybe that's why he had distanced himself a little more over the years.

"What?!"

His thoughts were interpreted by Bonnie's louder voice. He stood up and quickly came over to where she was, picking up the rapid muttering of the other caller. He watched as her forehead knotted up in worry. This couldn't be good news.

"But . . . so he's not there . . ?" she asked desperately, confusion in her voice. Who wasn't there? Michael strained to listen to what the other person was saying. He mouthed to her 'what is it' and she responded with an audible:

"It's Kitt. Sorry, yes, are they looking for him?"

There was more mumbling before a look of shock came over Bonnie's face.

"Why would he do that?" she questioned more to herself than the person on the other end. Michael crossed his arms and began pacing back and forth in the kitchen. KITT was missing. Why? How? This had suddenly gone from a frustrating dilemma to a full-blown crisis. He wanted to rip the phone out of her hands and demand what was going on, but he chose to practice self-control and waited. Bonnie would fill him in.

"Thank you . . . I don't know, I certainly hope not . . . Thanks for the heads-up . . . bye, Kathy."

Bonnie hung up and Michael stopped pacing.

"What's going on?" he asked a little harsher than he meant too. Bonnie was too upset to notice.

"That was Kathy, Kathy Cunningham. Michael, Kitt isn't at the Foundation. He's missing. She says they're looking for him but his homing beckon is disabled and he won't respond to any communications. She also said Scott's on his way here to talk to me . . . what have we done? What if something happened to him? What are we going to do?" she questioned in alarm, rising from her seat and staring wide-eyed across at the man.

Michael stood dumbfounded for a moment. What could they do? It might take days to figure out a solution to that question, but his gut reaction had a simpler answer.

"We have to find him."

"How? We don't have any clue where he could have gone," Bonnie stated skeptically though cooperation was in her tone.

 _Yeah, Michael, how are we going to find him?_ he thought to himself as he tried to show confidence in a semi-existent plan.

"Okay. Scotty's probably coming over here to ask for your help more than anything else, just offer your assistance. Don't tell him about last night just yet, we're still not clear on whether or not anyone from that conference call could be responsible for this. Do you have a hard copy of all the information you got on Jonathan?"

"No, but I can make one. Wait, responsible? You think Kitt was stolen? Why do you need information on Jonathan?" Bonnie asked, knowing full well Michael wasn't going to just sit idly by.

"I'm going to head out and find some leads. Kitt was upset about something and I know he didn't just up and leave. If I can find anything out I'll let you know. Besides, it's not going to look good if ole Scotts shows up with me at your house, now is it?" Michael stated as he grabbed his shoes by the couch. Bonnie nodded, understanding the several underlying meanings of that statement. However, she was still a little uneasy about the idea.

"Are you going to sneak into Knight Industries?" she asked as she made her way over to her laptop. She booted it up, waiting for a response from him.

"No, I have a hunch about something but most likely I'll be going on a road trip. If they ask for me tell them you last heard I had something come up with my business and might not be available for a while. I doubt he'll even ask though. Just keep me informed if anything changes," Michael said as he put on his shoes and retrieved his denim jacket from the back of a dining room chair. Bonnie stood up and retrieved a few papers from her printer. She handed them to him as he passed her to reach the garage. She grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Be careful," she said sternly. He gave a small nod.

"You too," he said, pulling away and heading out the door.

For Bonnie, the next few days both dragged on forever and flew by in the blink of an eye. On Friday night, the once dormant halls of FLAG's mansion headquarters had become abuzz with activity. The staff banquet had been postponed and replaced by a covert operation to locate KITT. Local law enforcement agencies had been instructed to keep an eye out for the black Trans Am and report it back to Scott if spotted; no other action was to be taken. The director hadn't wanted knowledge of the supercar's disappearance becoming too big of a stir within the public eye or the organization itself, especially since they had just secured funding hours ago. Only a few trustworthy technicians and some of KITT's former engineers had comprised the bustling group there at FLAG, Bonnie among them.

Scott had accepted her help readily as she had the most hands-on experience with KITT, not to mention she was one of the last people to see the car according to security. However, he had shown some disappointment and suspicion when she informed him of Michael's sudden 'business' trip. Michael, like herself, was one of the last known people to interact with KITT and since all of the other drivers had been cleared of having contact with the AI, it was upsetting for the director. Bonnie had assured Scott that Michael wouldn't be involved in something like this and that she would call Michael and inform him of the situation. Mr. Wellington had reluctantly let it go at that.

Most of the day had been spent acquainting everyone with each other as well as speculating whether it was theft, sabotage or something else that left them without the Knight Two Thousand. Bonnie had noticed no one believed the AI would up and leave of his own accord. They considered KITT too reluctant to make decisions like that on his own. Her perspective, however, was vastly different as she measured his personality against the current circumstances. She had reviewed the information surrounding his disappearance and it sounded like KITT may have never returned to the Foundation at all since leaving her house last night. KITT choosing to runoff was a real possibility, but the way most of the other engineers spoke of KITT, one would think he was just an impassive, sometimes opinionated, computer on wheels instead of the sensitive, thoughtful being she knew.

He had been neglected for months; left to his own devices while the Foundation's existence weighed in the background and nobody seemed bothered by that information. She had tried not to become too upset, keep a professional demeanor, but she wanted answers. She had demanded reports about his maintenance and the latest interactions. It earned her some sheepish looks from the other technicians. Satisfaction.

Mr. Wellington hadn't been pleased with the reports of minimal upkeep but hadn't pushed the subject either. His purpose had been clear; all he wanted was for KITT to be recovered as quickly and quietly as possible.

Attempts at locating the emergency homing signal had been futile. It appeared the indicator was being repressed internally. The team had tried initiating communication with KITT via the satellite commlink but their efforts were seemingly ignored. Even tracking the vehicle by its unique frequency signature had been unfruitful. Wherever KITT was, it was well out of range. To Bonnie, these had all been signs of the AI's decision making, but the others were skeptical, having little in the way of believing this was anything else but a theft. However, tips from police had put a black Trans Am fitting KITT's description on the highway leading out of Los Angeles several hours ago making a case for Bonnie's theory. If KITT had been stolen, chances were he would have been transported in the back of some truck not out in the open. Suddenly, establishing a possible pattern of behavior for a computer gone of its own volition was plausible.

Thus, Friday had ended with its problems and Saturday had come with a set of new ones. For example, the team had been exhausted from all the stress and disappointments brought on by yesterday, not to mention a lack of rest. Bonnie had felt particularly tired as this had now been her second night in a row of sleep deprivation, but it was nothing she hadn't dealt with before. With some backing from the techs, she had suggested they work in shifts; some would continue to investigate while others got some rest. The group had consented to the idea and Scott approved it. Of course, she had taken the first shift.

However, the day also held some promise for Bonnie as Michael had called her about his progress. He stated he'd found something, but needed more evidence to flesh it out and it seemed that evidence was in Seattle, which was where he was currently. He mentioned he was out in front of a place called BT Industries and would call her if anything changed. He had been in such a hurry to explain his plan that she hadn't even gotten a chance to mention KITT's behavior. She decided she would just call him back later.

Another positive was April Curtis' arrival to help with the search. The recently graduated Texan had taken a few days off work so she could assist with KITT's recovery. The fresh blood she brought to the group had been truly needed. Bonnie enjoyed the red-headed, Caucasian woman's company, bearing in mind she really didn't know anyone else there very well except for her successor Kimberly Jenkins, an African-American woman who tended to keep to herself.

By Saturday afternoon, Bonnie had been helping to establish a possible timetable of KITT's movements with Evelyn, a short Caucasian woman with light brown, wavy hair and the AI's last head engineer. She was a pleasant enough person and Bonnie had to admit that the lady knew her stuff, but something in the way the woman spoke about KITT set Bonnie on edge. Even though Evelyn had apologized for the lack of upkeep on the AI near her last days at FLAG, her voice had seemed detached as if she were only dealing with this issue on a purely intellectual level. In fact, by the end of the day, Bonnie had gotten the feeling most of the Foundation reflected that same detachment. She had turned in for the night but doubted she would get much sleep.

Sunday morning had come with the weight of the sterile environment proving detrimental to Bonnie's already fragile nerves. When KITT had first been discovered missing everyone had appeared shocked, just like her, and everybody had been worried about his safe return, but as more time passed Bonnie saw the attitudes start to change. She had watched as those around her progressively depersonalized the computer; _KITT's_ turned off his homing signal? Is _he_ not responding to communications? Why is _the Knight Industries Two Thousand_ doing this?! _That machine_ could become dangerous. We have to stop _it_.

The specs, upgrades and gadgets normally used to help KITT were all things that could be 'used against him' to bring him back. They were seeing him as property only and it hadn't settled well with her. She knew it wasn't good for KITT to be missing but what would these people do if they found him? A part of her wished she hadn't suggested he left on his own, but how else would they find him if they weren't honest? And speaking of honesty, when would she be able to share the doubts KITT had about Gadson's plans. All this had been draining, not to mention painful. She had tried focusing on the work as a distraction; the 'task at hand' approach. She would bring him back; she would find him, but now it was Sunday afternoon and several concerns were starting to chip at her mind.

Michael hadn't been heard from in a while. He said he was in Seattle and that he would call her back, but that was Saturday morning. She had tried reaching him several times, but the calls always went straight to voicemail. What if he found something or what if something happened to him? That brought back her worries tenfold.

What if she were wrong? What if the AI had been high jacked or damaged? How would they know? How much longer was all this going to take? That reminded her of the little issue of her going back to work tomorrow. She could call a personal day at the university and have a student aid pass out the study guide and a quiz . . . actually, that sounded like a pretty good idea; anything to take her mind off this.

Bonnie stood up from her workstation, stating to the others that she was going outside for some air, but her movements were slow, almost sore, and they didn't go unnoticed. April excused herself, too, and handed a chart over to one of the techs before walking across the room to Bonnie. Kimberly watched silently as both women went out of the lab room.

"You alright, Bonnie?" April asked as she fell into pace next to the doctor.

"I'm just tired that's all," Bonnie said with a brief, weak smile. She didn't really feel like talking with anyone, not even April at this moment. The graduate wasn't deterred.

"Honey, you look more than tired, you're exhausted and hungry I'll bet. I didn't see you eat anything for lunch," she said in a knowing tone. The doctor sighed.

"Well, I wasn't that hungry earlier, but I guess I should eat something now," Bonnie said lamely as she rounded a corner, making sure to give enough room for her follower.

"Uh-huh, thought so. Let's head to the kitchen and grab something to eat," April offered as she purposely took a step in the direction of the dining area. Bonnie paused. She just wanted to be left alone but . . . what would an early dinner hurt? She might even feel better, though she had reservations about that. With a mental, coin toss she made a decision.

"Sure, just let me make a phone call real quick and I'll meet you in there," she said with a little more convincing smile this time. April seemed to be satisfied with that as she nodded and began walking again. Bonnie went out into the cloudless evening and made a few phone calls. When she got back inside and arrived at the kitchen she noticed that April and Kimberly were there; each holding a cup of coffee. There was also a plate of bagels on the counter.

"Best I could do," April said with a shrug.

Bonnie joined them in the caffeine intake, grabbing a bagel before all of them sat down at a nearby table, stirring cream and sugar as needed. Bonnie explained to them about the university being fine with her taking time off from classes as long as she provided a substitute and it didn't exceed two weeks, but the board of sciences needed her on some of the upcoming meetings Tuesday and Thursday. The other two women expressed their understanding of her other obligations.

"I had to fight my boss into giving me a few days off, but he owed me anyway. I already had vacation time saved up. I don't know how I did it sometimes; going to school, work and having a family and all," April said with a sigh as she took a sip.

"Mm, I have to head back to Stanford Tuesday," Kimberly added. The conversation went into some more ins and outs of a professional scientist's life and progressed into times spent at FLAG. It also included convincing Bonnie to at least eat the bagel instead of staring at it. A lull developed in the discussion as she ate and Bonnie used it as an opportunity to reflect.

Talking with April and Kimberly had changed her perception of one thing; maybe she was unfairly judging the situation around her based on her own defensiveness. All the technicians and engineers she had been working with over the past few days had something in common, they were all here when they certainly had responsibilities elsewhere. Heck, most of them didn't even work for FLAG anymore, including herself, but they were still here trying to bring KITT home. That wasn't indifference, it was dedication, but like herself at one time, it was just easier to view this as a task instead of a mission. Wasn't it always?

She remembered ten years of working for an organization where you didn't know if your friends would come back safe, injured, damaged or alive. It was stressful, painful, frightening and either you buckled under the pressure or you coped with it somehow. She had chosen sarcastic criticism at first; using bitter humor as a way to keep everyone at a distance, but the caring still developed. Later she moved towards stark professionalism; a cool remoteness to get the job done without remorse, but the pain was still real. Finally, she settled into a healthier pattern of disclosure with Devon, Michael and especially KITT; discussions that comforted her, but she still left.

Everyone who worked as KITT's lead engineer experienced the same conditions and perils she had, maybe even worse, and found ways of coping. She knew for a fact no one had stayed on as long as her, but the distress was similar. Even in this short chat with April and Kimberly, they had avoided bringing the sensitive topic of KITT up, but the impact on the lives he came in contact with was still there. Perhaps, they all needed the same benefits of being open and frank about this as she had. She looked up at the two ladies, who seemed to find the bottoms of their empty coffee cups fascinating, and cleared her throat. They looked up.

"I'm really worried about, Kitt," she said, receiving the response she hoped for. Before long the three had brought forth their experiences and concerns for the AI in a new light. The dialogue came back with them to the main laboratory and with a few stories here and a couple more there; most of the assemblage began talking about KITT in a more personal manner. Bonnie was amazed at how quickly the environment changed. Instead of a room full of a bunch of tired, caffeine driven experts locating a supercar, it pulsed with a renewed energy and reapplied mindset; they were trying to find _Kitt_.

The stir created was so prevailing that Scott was becoming alarmed by the commotion. He didn't need this kind of uproar about the Knight Industries Two Thousand. It was too risky. He voiced his concerns, emphasizing the importance of staying on track and locating the vehicle. As he spoke, a tangible tension began to build up, slowly snuffing out the enthusiasm. Bonnie spoke up.

"Mr. Wellington, these people didn't gather here just to recover a piece of property," she stated fiercely, causing Scott to stutter to a stop, "We're here to find Kitt and that's exactly what we are going to do. So please, allow us to do what we need to."

A small round of applause followed. The older man surprisingly smiled.

"Fine," Scott said tersely, though his features expressed approval, "But I want a word with you."

He led her over to a quieter area of the large room away from the computer terminals and desks, before turning to face her with grim eyes.

"Dr. Barstow, I understand your position in all of this and I know how important this is, but I have to stress this to you . . . I can't have word of the Knight Two Thousand's disappearance getting back to the Board. I don't know if you're fully aware of this, but . . . we are on thin ice as it is with funding concerning FLAG's operations. If they find out . . . the Knight Two Thousand is missing or, worse yet, that it chose to leave on its own . . . I may be forced to take measures that I believe are too drastic to take. Please, understand," he emphasized. Bonnie's concern rose at the tone of Mr. Wellignton's voice as he spoke. He sounded worried, almost scared, but before she could raise any questions a loud voice interrupted them.

"I don't believe it! Mr. Wellington, Dr. Barstow I got something!" one of the techs shouted from his work desk, drawing the attention of the whole group, "I got a currency update from Kitt. He's in Denver, Colorado."

* * *

_. . . it does not boast . . ._


	5. Chapter 5

_Encrypted Email: June, Monday 09:00_

_Dear S,_

_Yes, the transmissions are still working out better than we could have hoped. I can tell you where it's located in Chicago and, if we're lucky, maybe we can corner it on company time. So, tell the doctor to relax. I think you would also like to know that one of the old operatives is up in Seattle looking for clues, I guess. His name's Michael. I'm not sure if he still works for FLAG but Dr. Barstow appears to be helping him. I believe she told him about Denver. I'll keep you posted._

_ES_

* * *

The notes of Samuel Barber's _Adagio for Strings_ drifted up to the second story apartment window for the third night in a row. The cascade of sound echoed around the walls of nearby buildings, giving the beautiful piece a haunting quality. The occupant of that particular residence was Cassidy Staples, a graduate of Columbia University in the field of psychology; emphasis on its experimental application. She was now on track for her doctorate, currently working on her dissertation. The Caucasian woman was in her early thirties and sported a purple nightgown as it was twelve midnight. She had just laid some research materials down when she heard the music.

This would be the third time her nightly routine of working late had been serenaded by the strangest thing; a black car parked in the alleyway of her apartment building. The first night she heard the classical songs, she thought nothing of it. Possibly just someone from the apartment above or neighboring had their stereo up too loud; nothing new in the city that never seems to sleep, but the landlord was sure going to receive a few disgruntled phone calls in the morning. Anyway, the second night it happened she became curious. Where was that music coming from? She had gotten up from her desk and investigated the way most people did; she parted the blinds and peeked out.

That's when she spotted it; a black sports car nestled just under her window. Honestly, her first thoughts on seeing it had been why anyone driving a car like that would listen to classical music, but then she realized something else. The noise wasn't all that loud. She doubted any of her other neighbors would even be able to hear it. She knew the place below hers was empty mostly because she didn't hear noise from below her. These Brooklyn apartments didn't exactly have soundproof floors and ceilings, but they were inexpensive and her private college wasn't.

Anyhow, the vehicle gave rise to suspicion and she watched it for a little while to see who was in it or what they were up to. The music had continued and the car just sat there; no one getting in or out. She had eventually given up her vigil and went to bed, waking up the next morning to find the car gone. Good riddance she had thought, but now, here it was again.

"What is this?" she voiced aloud, brushing a hand through her brown bangs as she got up and walked over to her window. Opening the blinds just a crack, her brown eyes were drawn to the same black car sitting out in the alleyway, just like last night and, most likely, the night before that. This was certainly very strange; almost creepy. She wasn't one to call the police on every little thing, but she might make an exception on this one. Then again, maybe she was overreacting. For all she knew, it could be someone new from the adjacent complex seeking some quiet time in their car. She knew if she had one she would. She closed the blinds and went to sit back down at her desk. She briefly thought about calling her husband, but then what would she tell him; 'hey I need you to come back from the development team because a car is parked in the alley.'

She sighed. Besides, she had some training in methodology tomorrow and really needed to finish the odds and ends of her part in the project. For now, she would just have to ignore her weird visitor, perhaps, enjoy the soft music, and continue on with her work.

Hours passed and Cassidy nearly forgot all about the black car outside until she realized the music stopped. She stretched a bit and yawned before grabbing her coffee and standing to her feet. She shuffled over to the window and cracked the blinds again. The car was still there. She glanced back at the clock on the far wall; it was five am. She really had pulled an all-nighter, not unusual. She still had five hours until her meeting; enough time to catch a nap, but . . . the car was starting up.

She watched as the black automobile pulled forward towards the busy street corner; its windows so darkened that she couldn't see who was driving. The songs had continued through most of the morning, she was sure of that, but she never heard any car doors opening or closing. Did that person spend all night in their car? The license plate read 'KNI 667'. She quickly jotted it down on a notepad for future reference along with the best description of the car she could give. Oddly, the vehicle didn't have a make or model emblem on the back and she didn't see the front at all. Rubbing some of the tiredness from her eyes she decided to call her husband before getting some sleep.

"Today is going to be a long day," she muttered, padding towards the kitchen. If only she knew the AI inside the little black car had seconded that motion while pulling out into the flow of traffic . . .

It had been a whole week since KITT left the Foundation. A whole week since he last talked to people he knew and trusted. He signed internally. Maybe he should focus on his surroundings just a few moments more before he tortured himself for hours.

It appeared he might be wearing out his welcome in the one alley that permitted parking at night. It was a convenient location as it was only a block away from his daytime hideout; the cheapest parking garage he could find. He still couldn't believe how much it costs to be a car in this city.

Anyway, the spot was also ideal because the ground level apartment was empty, no one trying to peek inside him through the window, but it appeared the woman in apartment 2-C was getting suspicious of his nightly comings and goings. He couldn't blame her, however; a strange car, sitting in a dark alleyway, playing classical music . . . though he was almost certain she enjoyed his musical selections as she never opened the window to yell shut up or dump something on him.

In all seriousness, he had developed the occasional habit of playing music while in sleep mode about four years ago. He couldn't say he appreciated having such an unintentional practice and it also coincided with another unconscious phenomenon he didn't even want to think about right now. The only reason he was aware of either had to do with him being 'woke' up sometimes by the sound. He would have to try and be quieter this evening, just like he promised himself last evening and the evening before last.

Another quiet sigh.

He pulled up to the ramp of the parking garage gate and paused, waiting for his new acquaintance. The valets glanced at the car and one broke off from the rest of the group towards the office. KITT didn't know why Providence had favored him on the night he met the lot's manager, Joe Wallace, but the man took a shining to the 'driver' of the little black T-top who saved his life.

When KITT first came into this district around ten o'clock Tuesday night he noticed a commotion by the garage's alley; a nasty commotion. Mr. Wallace had been outnumbered, three to one, by some rather rough-looking individuals. At the time, KITT didn't know what the brawl was about, but he wasn't prone to turning a blind eye to someone in obvious need of assistance. He had gunned his engine, speed through the garbage cans in his way and roared over to the group of men, startling the three hoodlums from inflicting more blows on Joe.

"Who's dis idiot?" one had asked, Brooklyn accent evident as he stood to face the car with the weird red light.

"I suggest you move away from that gentleman immediately and vacate the premises," KITT had replied tersely. The other two thugs stood up, narrowing their eyes at the car.

"Dis ain't none of your business . . ." the taller one had begun, but KITT cut them off.

"I'm making it my business and since it seems you're having such a difficult time understanding me I'll try to put it in your terms. Leave da man alone an' get atta here. Don't get lost in the da sewer youse crawled out of."

Mr. Wallace scooted back as the gang of young men seemed to be more interested in this good, possibly stupid, Samaritan than him right now. The trio had circled the vehicle and gone ballistic, trying to gain access to the guy inside. Every insult, threat and four-letter word the three young men could think of was uttered while every object within reach was thrown, banged and pried onto the automobile. All their efforts lasted about a minute leaving them with bashed knuckles and bruised egos while KITT stood without a scratch, gloating.

"Whatsamatta? Gettin' tired or somedin," he had vocalized in his own strong Brooklyn accent thanks to the language module. Normally, he abhorred speaking like this, but the moment just begged for it. When in Rome, as the expression went.

"Yeah, well why don't ya get out of dat fancy car of yours and say it ta my face . . ." the man had been interrupted by the sound of police sirens approaching. The gang swore and scrambled over themselves to get away, but KITT ensured their capture by rounding the hooligans up with maneuvers he'd learned over the years. Arrests were made and Joe was grateful to the AI. After some medical attention, the manager offered KITT free parking for the next month, during the day of course, and a discount for life. The man had presented more, but the AI was disinclined to take it. After all, there was nothing he could do with a case of 'cold ones'. So, over the past few days, KITT had been coming to the garage and . . . oh, there was Joe now.

"Hiya, boss. Early as always, I see. Want ta get dat spot on da roof, huh?" a Caucasian man said as he hobbled over to the gate. He had a cast on his right foot and bandages around his ribs and arms, but he had a grin on his gruff face. KITT inwardly smiled.

"Hello, Mr. Wallace. How are you feeling today?" he asked politely.

"How many times I have ta tell ya, call me Joe. Anyway, it feels like I've been hit by a truck," Joe said as he leaned on the gate a bit.

"I know what that's like, believe me. Is your leg doing better?" KITT inquired, even though his medical scans had the answer to that already.

"Still hurts, but it's on the mend. Thanks ta you I'm still around ta say dat. You still not gonna let me put a face ta who you are, are ya?" Joe questioned leaning further on the gate, brown eyes searching. The tinted windows reflected his curious expression back to him.

"I'm afraid not, Joe, but I'll take that spot on the roof if you don't mind," KITT quipped, trying to get the focus off his 'identity'. Joe nodded as he opened the gate. Normally, only valets could park the vehicles, but KITT was the exception.

"I hea' ya. Take it easy," he said, waving the car in with his free hand.

"You too, Joe."

KITT rolled forward, watching as the manager lowered the gate and started back for his office ready to start the day. Pretty soon this place would be packed to capacity with other automobiles as it was situated next to three office buildings and a community college. It was also close to a coffee shop that offered free internet service, which he so happened to get the best reception from on the roof of the parking complex. The top-level offered the best place for him to use his solar panels to recharge his power packs as well. It was a win, win for the AI in that regard, hence his necessity to retain this location as long as possible.

**_Last Monday Morning_ **

BT Industries had a sprawling campus in Seattle made up of office facilities, research laboratories, and climate-controlled warehouses. It was the leader in its field of medicine, employing well over two-hundred members of staff dedicated to biotechnology, and housing well over five-hundred million dollars worth of equipment and pharmaceuticals. That's why the idea of this place becoming the center for a foundation based in law and government sounded suspicious to Michael. Once he found out that Jonathan Gadson would be moving FLAG's headquarters here, he had to come up and do a little personal investigating.

Presently, he was trapped between one of the facility's technicians and a rather eager, but attractive university student. He could just make out his blue 2000 Jeep Wrangler parked on the street across from the front entrance and sighed. He glanced from the young man to the younger woman, not understanding a word they were saying and wondering how he got into this position, to begin with. It started Friday.

He had looked up the company and found out that a local university group was going to be touring the place over the weekend. He immediately headed out to catch what might be his only opportunity to get into such a heavily secured place. Saturday morning, he called Bonnie and let her know where he was but his plans slowed down after that. Without an ID or connections in the area, how was he to slip in? He certainly didn't look like most of the college students meandering around the front, waiting for what was probably their first taste of real scientific work.

Wisely, he had chosen to wear more formal attire than usual and fortunately, he had bumped into Rachel Sanders, a student who seemed to have mistaken him for an adjunct professor at her former college. Though her real motives were slightly unclear, she had invited him to join her on the BT Inc. walk-thru as they were allotted one guest and her friend had backed out. With that stroke of luck, Michael had a weekend pass to explore the complex without much suspicion and he did. However, there had been shortcomings; terribly annoying shortcomings.

First, no one had been allowed to leave the grounds once the gates were closed. This wouldn't have been that big of a problem if his cell phone charger hadn't of been left in his jeep. His phone was dead and it didn't seem anyone anywhere had a compatible charger. Second, he wasn't exactly software savvy. He knew his way around computer hardware thanks to his background, but hacking wasn't his strongest skill. Being this was a company that almost did everything exclusively by computer, it made this limitation unfortunate. Third, even the information he was able to glean from staff, seminars and files he couldn't fact check against anything else.

Ideally, Jonathan having a direct connection to KITT's disappearance with evidence supporting that theory would have made Michael's job easier. Even better would have been to find his former partner already at the facility, but it wasn't adding up that way. He had actually found out that Mr. Gadson held charities for law enforcement agencies across the country and that the man indeed had a space set aside to house FLAG's operations as pointed out by one of the tours.

So, as he stuck his hands in his pockets and gave a few affirmative nods to the conversation of mathematical jargon Rachel and this tech guy seemed to direct towards him occasionally, he thought about one thing; how this would have been a lot easier with KITT. With the AI he could have scoped the place out from the street, made a fake I.D., placed a call back to LA, cross-referenced gathered information and even sneaked out for some decent food. On the other hand, if KITT were here he wouldn't be doing any of this anyway.

"Hey, I'm ready to go now. Are you alright?" Rachel asked as she waved a hand up at him. Michael started a bit, unaware that he had been zoning out.

"Sorry. Yeah, I'm fine. Let's go," he said, wearing an easy smile. She smiled back and started walking towards the gate.

'Finally, we're leaving' he thought. The tour had officially ended an hour ago. Most of the other university students were gone already, but Rachel had taken a shine to some of the staff members here and, thanks to her purple dress complimenting her black hair and sparkling green eyes, said staff seemed to return the sentiment. Michael had the feeling his role here was to play bodyguard, maybe part of the reason she invited him, to begin with. Well, anything to help the young minds of tomorrow and all that.

Once outside the gates Rachel thanked him for joining her and offered to take him out to breakfast. He couldn't help but smile and shake his head. Twenty years ago he would have been asking her out to eat. How the world changed? He kindly refused the offer coming up with a story of how he needed to get back to teach some classes and they parted ways. As he got into his jeep he looked back at Rachel who was catching a bus, heading back to her school most likely. Memories flooded back to him as he sat in the driver's seat and watched the bus pull away.

Some recollections were pleasant while others were horrifying. However, a common theme seemed to run throughout his past; crossroads; turning points in his life that literally changed everything. At some junctions, he wondered if he had taken the right path. He knew it was useless to dwell on such things. What was done was done and on most days he could ignore it, but sometimes, like this week, he genuinely questioned how life for him would have turned out differently.

What if he hadn't chased Lonnie out into the desert? Or allowed Tanya to come with him? Better yet, what if he had actually been the back up his partner Muntzy needed? He would still be Lt. Michael Long, working his way up through the law enforcement ranks, probably married to his fiancé; he might have even had kids. But it was all speculations and lost dreams at this point. The reality was the death of a good man and a muzzle flash haunting his nightmares.

Out of that horror came a new opportunity; another intersection in his life. Michael Long was dead and Michael Knight was waiting. What if he hadn't chosen to stay with FLAG? What if he hadn't tried to go after Tanya Walker or get justice over the criminals involved with that first case? What if he hadn't taken his newly modified car and, instead, left the estate on his own for good? He would have existed as a ghost in society. He certainly wouldn't have experienced the eight years working with people he would consider family and he also wouldn't have gone through the several hardships associated with it.

Other what-ifs submerged his mind into a chasm of self-doubt and guilt. What if he had gone after Durant as he should have? What if he hadn't asked Stevie to marry him? He wouldn't have had to hold his dying wife in his arms or feel the murderous rage it induced. What if he had listened to KITT's cautions all those times in the past? He certainly wouldn't have half the scars he had now, but there would also be several unsolved cases. What if he had considered his partner's limitations more heavily? There were too many results to count. What if he had told Bonnie how he felt? Or explained the problems to Devon? What would have happened if he stayed instead of retiring? Remained Michael Knight instead of Michael Hatton?

Michael shook those doubts from his mind. Every question had its foreboding answers and he didn't want to think about it anymore. He decided to distract himself. He pulled out his dead cell phone from the clip attached to his belt and retrieved the charger from the glove box. After plugging it into the cigarette lighter port and waiting for the connected device to get enough power to turn on, he checked to see if he had any messages. The screen lit up: 10 new messages; all were from Bonnie's number. They spanned from yesterday to just an hour ago. Instead of listening to the messages he decided to call her back.

"Hello," said the tired, but hopeful voice on the other end.

"Hey, Bonnie."

"Michael! Why didn't you answer, I've been trying to get a hold of you!" she said in her usual voice of frustration when speaking with him. He sighed. Old habits die hard he supposed.

"It's a long story, but I'm here now. What's up?"

"We got a signal from Kitt last night," she stated quickly.

"Really?! Where from? Maybe I can catch up to . . ."

"It was from Denver, Colorado."

"Oh," he said lamely.

"Yeah. Flag sent an APB to the police out there, but they haven't found anything yet. There's something else too, Michael. I don't think Kitt wants to be found," Bonnie said in a hushed tone.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Michael asked in a clipped voice. He was still under the assumption someone had something to do with this and he couldn't imagine his old partner purposefully leaving the Foundation much less evading them.

"I meant to tell you Saturday but you were in such a hurry. Kitt's been actively suppressing his communication devices and homing signal. The LAPD spotted him leaving Los Angeles Friday night," Bonnie said calmly.

"Well, this isn't the first time around the block, Bonnie. Kitt's been taken before. He could be under somebody's control again," Michael said in a reasoning tone. He could hear the negative head shake in her voice.

"Most of those issues were addressed a long time ago. He's protected by the best security software anywhere. It would be very difficult for someone to even get into FLAG's mainframe let alone into Kitt."

"And besides, even if somebody did take him they wouldn't be wasting their time repressing signals, they would have cut them off completely," Michael sighed. She had a point, but it was still hard to believe KITT would have run away. The AI's behavior had been strange last Friday morning but did it warrant driving all the way out to Denver. It left a sinking suspicion that something more sinister was going on.

"Okay, but I'm still not ruling out the possibility of a third party. What makes you think he doesn't want to be found if he did leave though? He sent you a message, right? Maybe he's just . . . I don't know, confused. Maybe he lost his memory somehow?"

"I don't think he meant to communicate back to us. It's basically an electronic receipt for gas and a car wash," Bonnie said. Another sigh from Michael.

"Terrific."

"Worse yet, it looks like more people in Flag know Kitt is missing. Scott is trying to convince them that we are getting the situation under control, but I think it's only a matter of time before the Board finds out."

"Even better."

"That's not the only reason I was trying to get a hold of you. They're putting together a mobile unit to head out to Denver today and Scott will be ahead in the jet, but . . ." she paused, hesitation in her voice.

"But what?"

"I can't go with them. I have a meeting I can't miss tomorrow at the University. I can leave tomorrow afternoon, but, Michael, I'm worried . . . things haven't been exactly levelheaded around here. Since Kitt can't be found and he's not responding I'm afraid . . . if they do find him . . ." she stopped. Michael seemed to understand her underlying tone.

"We'll find him first, Bonnie, I promise."

There was a short moment of silence before he continued.

"Look, I found some information on BT Industries that I'll send your way. Right now, wherein Denver was Kitt?" he asked. Bonnie gave him the address to the gas station and he quickly jotted it down on a scrap piece of paper.

"I'm on my way. Trust me, I'll beat Flag there," he said.

"Good luck, Michael, and be careful," she said with clearly heard concern.

"You too. Bye," he said, ending the call. He used the camera feature on his phone to snap some photos of the documents he copied while in the facility and emailed them to Bonnie before placing the phone on the seat next to him, charger still attached. He then punched in the destination for Seattle's airport on the GPS system he got for the jeep last year. Interacting with all this new technology brought his thoughts to the fact he had been using all these things long before their commercial use. KITT had been state of the art back then and he wondered how many new functions the car had installed now.

'If you'd bothered to ask you'd have known,' he thought sharply. Where'd that come from? He wasn't a FLAG employee; it was none of his business what KITT's utilities were anymore. But somehow, that didn't sound right and it troubled him. He had visited the Foundation maybe nine or ten times since retiring and half of those were specifically to see the still shiny black Trans Am. In all honesty, that was pretty abnormal for him considering his nature. There was a process Michael had in being able to disconnect from his past and move forward, but it didn't seem to stick well in this situation.

He felt bad about this now, but over the years he had tried to whittle KITT's significance down to just a computer, a likable computer, but something that he shouldn't be too attached to. It definitely would have uncomplicated things, but then it wasn't a computer that sent him personalized birthday cards and mail-ordered Christmas gifts; it was KITT. Now here he was out investigating a high-end company, risking serious arrest and ready to cross the country at the drop of a hat for said computer. Oh, sure, he could say he was just missing the thrill of the chase, wanting to be the action hero again, but that would be a lie.

He really was concerned for his old partner and friend. Why would KITT runaway? In all his experience with the artificial intelligence unit, only a handful of things could be pegged as a reason. As far as he knew, KITT didn't have an operative so the safety of his driver was not it. Sometimes the AI could be frightened, annoyed or bored into action, but normally that ended in a short-lived trip down the road not a journey to Colorado. A direct order given from anyone over FLAG could have the car clear across the country, but it didn't seem likely. That being the case, Michael recalled only one other instance where KITT would act autonomously and that was to protect human life.

Thinking back to Friday, he never really did get a direct answer as to why KITT deviated from the original plan to wait. Why had the AI left in the middle of the night to see Bonnie, to begin with? What had KITT desperately begging for them to trust him? What if KITT felt they were in danger and was trying to protect them? That would certainly explain things, but what was he trying to protect them from and, more importantly, why couldn't he explain it to them? Jonathan Gadson and BT Industries might have seemed part of the problem, but Michael had a feeling something else was truly behind it all.

He started the jeep's engine just as his stomach growled. Maybe he should have taken that offer for breakfast; he had a long day out ahead of him. Oh, well, he could swing by a fast food joint and pick up a fully loaded breakfast sandwich . . . or something not entirely made of bacon as his old snarky partner would say. He could book a nonstop flight to Denver and pick up a rental car there. He seriously doubted he would find the little black T-top, considering what Bonnie told him, but there was no harm in trying. If only there was another way to communicate with the AI . . . Maybe there was.

It appeared KITT was moving east. Who did he know out that way and, out of those, who would understand the situation? He picked his cell phone back up and searched through his contacts. Finally, he scrolled over a number and called it.

"Hello, yes, is Major Reginald Cornelius available?"

* * *

_. . . it is not proud . . ._


	6. Chapter 6

_Encrypted Email: June, Tuesday 01:25_

_Dear ES,_

_Michael? Michael Knight. We may need to contract with a few guns for hire in that area. Or maybe I can get them in a more insidious, legal fashion. Go ahead and see if you can't locate the machine on your own; we are no longer concerned about Knight Industries' interests, thus leaving the doctor and Mr. Bolt out of the loop on this._

_S_

* * *

KITT picked an empty space among many on the top level of the parking garage, making sure to back against the wall; Abigail always said it was the safest option for a paint job when it came to New York City garages with all its comings and goings. More memories of the young woman with rusty, brown hair and emerald, green eyes threatened to engulf his systems, but he quickly cut them off.

From six-fifteen to seven-thirty he watched other cars come in and park. Most were newer models with all the technological trimmings that seemed to come along with the automotive industry now-in-days. He couldn't say he liked all their designs, or colors, but a few were pleasant to look at. Around eight-fifteen, he became a little self-conscious about his own make and model while going into surveillance mode. Nothing came up on his scanners except the extreme dampness of the air around him. Then at eight forty-five he spotted another Trans Am and scowled at the amount of wear and tear on it. He mentioned to the valet in passing to be gentle with it and then sent a text to the owner about local body shops. Next, he tracked people's movements to and from the garage, going to work and other appointments until well after ten o'clock. Effectively, he was stalling. Worse yet, he knew he was doing it.

" _Stop messin' around, will ya?"_ he heard Michael's exasperated voice through his mind's ear. Enough; it was time for business. He entered the protocol that would pull up all the data he had gathered so far over the past week. It went as follows:

Jonathan Gadson was a very successful businessman who seemed to have his fingers in everything that toted financial accomplishments in Seattle. He owned a decent-sized shipyard that specialized in protective armament for vessels in private and military use. He had ties to the airline industry as with funds in both the narrow and wide-body aircraft building plants in the area. He also possessed stocks in railroads, utilities, and renewable energy. With all this wealth one would expect a life of luxury but instead, it was invested in research. An emphasis in biotechnology appeared to be where Jonathan spent most of his efforts currently, owning a facility known as BT Industries. It was all very notable work, creating several new medical breakthroughs and agricultural advances. In fact, it was this aspect that caught Knight Industries' attention eight years ago.

One thing that didn't seem to show up on Mr. Gadson's long list of influences was criminal activity. KITT couldn't find one thing out of order, not even so much as a code violation. He tried cross-referencing the man's name and industries with his contacts and other corporations, but it all led back to sound business practices and strong mutual ethics. By the end of it, KITT was embarrassed. The deeper he dug the more ashamed he became and that's how he felt now. His hard kept resolve was waning. How could he accuse a man with such stout character of conspiring against FLAG? He was a disgrace to the Knight name; he should go back; turn himself in.

After all, Seattle wasn't a bad city. One of his favorite Symphony Orchestras was located there and it had plenty of sights to offer; though this was the same metropolis that brought the world 'grunge' and the caffeine addiction known as Starbucks. Oh, well, he could adjust and at least he would be useful again. A new start in the Emerald City and yet . . . a surge of deep anxiety came up within him at the thought of going back to FLAG, back to Bonnie and Michael.

He tried to block, reroute, move, dump, firewall, lock, encrypt, seal and reseal the reaction but it wouldn't stop; it wouldn't end. It had to be a problem with his encoding; what else could it be? What could he do if it was? Go back to the Foundation and get help, or back to Bonnie, but what if that would harm Michael or Bonnie? What was he going to do? Only one thing came to mind.

He needed to track down more data, check into further history, research extra files, hunt down additional clues; everything he had seen his human counterparts do to address a dilemma that seemed daunting and impossible. There had to be an explanation and he had to find it. If it were him at fault he needed to find evidence of a time he could have been compromised.

Five months ago, Evelyn fully checked his modules; January eleventh at eight am to be exact. Everything had seemed perfectly satisfactory then and there were no coding alignment issues to speak of, but there was always room for human error. Terry, his last driver, had been thinking about quitting the Foundation at the time, just like the one before him and the one before that and the one . . . KITT sighed inwardly at the disheartening memories before recollecting his thoughts. He had to keep focused; keep digging.

There were no security breaches at FLAG or threats against him that were beyond the usual bullet fanfare. When Terry left two weeks later, KITT didn't see any of his usual action. He was mostly confined to the garage at the Foundation, let out occasionally to the test track and when Bonnie and Michael visited. In fact, this was the longest he had been away from the estate in four months, two weeks and five days. At any rate, he couldn't establish a period of time where he could have been corrupted or tampered with. Besides, Bonnie had just looked him over without finding anything and his own diagnostics ascertained nothing either. He was fine, but he wasn't. He had reviewed all of this for the past three days now and he was right back to the same static again because he didn't want to . . .

"That's it. If I can't find one thing to justify my being out here by the end of today I will return to the Foundation where I belong," KITT said firmly. The personal ultimatum increased his discomfort, but also fueled his determination. He knew part of the problem. He had deemed Jonathan's announcement suspicious. He needed proof. He searched for answers. He asked for advice. He had facts and figures. He had to put the pieces together. He brought up the script containing Jonathan's statements, starting at the end and working his way back.

Nothing troubling there . . . It was true Mr. Gadson had a history of helping bankrupt businesses and the Foundation was running out of time, so no issue here . . . Jonathan could fund thirty-five percent of FLAG's operations for a whole year according to the accounting books KITT had dipped into briefly. The man basically owned half of Seattle with his investments in medicine, transportation, and utilities. But this statement alone was causing all KITT's angst.

Frustrated, KITT was about to stop the analysis when he recalled the line Jonathan said before he made the offer.

' **He has a point.'**

Who had a point? It was Mr. Wellington who spoke last. He was talking about the work the Foundation did; who it helped. Catching criminals operating above the law, helping those who had nowhere else to turn, assisting local law enforcement and government agencies; that was FLAG, so what did that have to do with biotechnology and aircraft parts? Why would Jonathan Gadson want to move FLAG's operations there to Seattle? That was it! He had been going about this all wrong. The connection wasn't in a criminal background it was in the oddity of the request.

If he could have done so without being noticed, KITT would have turbo-boosted for joy clear across the lot. He had a lead; a true honest to goodness lead. All he needed to do was follow it and see where it took him. First stop, BT Industries.

Hours ticked by as the AI accessed as many public, and not so public, documents he could online. Unfortunately, the internet yielded both relevant and irrelevant information, all of which he had to sift through carefully and slowly. He was unmindful of the activity around him, including the parade of people who were either leaving from work and trying to get home as fast as they could or pulling into the garage to kick off their weekend with a Friday night on the town. He stayed focus on gathering as much information as he could, feeling great dissatisfaction with the results. He didn't want to let go of this renewed hope he had, but the connection was not forthcoming.

If only he could tap into the Foundation's mainframe; he would have access to almost unlimited supplies of useful data, but he couldn't risk using his satellite links or passcodes again. He had tried hacking the systems at FLAG early Wednesday morning only to find out his unique signature had been flagged as a priority security risk which meant he could be traced back to the wireless network he was using called 'cantthinkofanetworkname' of all things. It was a long shot that they could find him, yes, but feasible. The Foundation was looking for him and they would use every available resource, he knew that.

For this reason, he severed his FLAG connection and limited his communications with other computers and mainframes, only linking up if necessary. It was safer this way, but not very fruitful. So far, all he had gotten was how odd it was for Jonathan to show any interest in taking on a non-profit crime-fighting organization when most of his endeavors involved things of a capitalist nature.

_Stuck again_ he thought in annoyance. Another tactic was needed. He began to access his memory files for old cases and crimes he helped solve with his partners over the years. A problem arose quickly, however. There were so many that involved crooked businessmen and dirty money that the data was staggering; it overwhelmed him. Normally, he just gave his human counterpart the facts and they connected the dots so to speak. His talent was in the details, not the overall picture. Sometimes he couldn't piece it together . . . he couldn't, he just couldn't . . .

" _Easy there, pal"_ came the past voice of comfort. Michael. Michael would know what to do. But . . . KITT sighed. He had thought about contacting Michael or Bonnie via internet phone services one-hundred-twenty-seven times, but if he took that chance of opening up an account and calling them he could be found or they could. He didn't want that to happen and, along with the sense he would be putting them in danger if he did go back, there was the humiliation he felt for leaving in the first place.

He needed to be able to clarify his actions. Without an explanation, all this would be too shameful. It would prove his worst fears; he was defective, useless and expendable; he was alone, unwanted and deserted. All his engineers and drivers had left him behind, the new director didn't even want to interact with him and even in this day and age of technology, most people saw him as just a freak novelty while others, like Joe, he had to basically lie to. He didn't even know his creator that well and being one of a kind was a . . . what the heck was he going on about?

KITT internally shook. He was being irrational again. All those statements were misapplied snippets of truth, or truth misapplied in his existence . . . either way, right now he couldn't contact anyone. Maybe it was time for a change in scenery. It was going on ten o'clock and he was getting a bad connection from the cafe anyway. He engaged the engine, clicked on the headlights and rolled through the maze of exit signs leading to the garage's exit ramp. The internet link was actually strongest in his nighttime hideout, another reason he kept returning to that alley.

Once he reached the ground level he spotted Joe leaving for the night too. He flashed his lights at the man as a way of signaling goodnight and Joe responded with a wave. KITT signaled his turn and pulled out into traffic, focusing some of his preceptors on Mr. Wallace's trek over to a neighboring apartment building. He wanted to make sure his new friend made it home safe. He pulled into his familiar alley, monitoring Joe's progress until the man was secure in the dwelling. Due to his distraction, KITT paid little notice to the couple approaching him.

"Honey, that's it. That's the car I've been telling you about. The one that keeps showing up at night," a female's voice broke through KITT's processes drawing his awareness to the woman who occupied 2-C standing before him. However, what seized his attention was the African-American man next to her. An unidentified, yet familiar man; as if KITT had met him before . . . his scanner increased in speed.

"Kitt?" the man whispered in a state of disbelief.

At the mention of his name, KITT's equalizer stopped and went dark.

**_Monday Afternoon_ **

Scott Wellington looked up at the bright gas station sign as he climbed from the back of a tan Lincoln Town Car he had rented for his arrival in Denver. He gave the driver directions to wait for him as he closed the door. He shuffled his feet a bit on the crumbling asphalt underneath him and took in a breath. This was the address reported on the receipt sent by KITT. It was a small refueling station with four pumps, one of which was full service. The convenience store was of a typical sort, not condemnable, but, by all means, rundown. It also had an adjoining car wash that could, in his humble opinion, use a good wash and wax itself.

"I should have never reinstated that blasted Auto Currency Dispenser," he mumbled. After straightening the jacket on his grey suit, he began to walk towards the double doors on the front of the shop, thinking about how he had ended up here, to begin with. His flight from Los Angeles on the jet was quick, only about two and a half hours, but the several phone calls he had to make during that time made it feel like an eternity. Most were to coordinate FLAG's mobile unit to Colorado and focus law enforcement's efforts on spotting the elusive sports car. It was clear KITT was long gone, but this gas station was their only lead and a starting point nonetheless. So, here he was. Suddenly, the door to the convenience store swung open to reveal a young man pushing a mop bucket. Clearly, he worked there.

"Oh, hello, sir. Is there anything I can do for you today?" he said trying to move the cleaning supplies out of the way of the entrance. Scott gave a brief, polite smile.

"As a matter of fact, there is. Is the manager in?"

"No, he went to grab dinner. But he'll be back in an hour if you need to talk to him," the attendant said.

"Well, maybe you can help me. See, I am trying to locate a vehicle that might have come through here last night," Scott began.

"It wouldn't happen to be a black Trans Am would it?" the employee said as he emptied out the contents of the bucket into the patch of grass below the large front window. Scott visibly paled and tried to sputter a response, before he recomposed himself.

"How did you know I was going to ask about a Trans Am?"

"You're the second person today to ask me about a car that came in last night."

"Who was the first?" Scott asked with a forced smile this time.

"Look, am I going to get into trouble for this? I didn't do anything and I didn't see anything okay. I promise."

"I believe you, uh . . . Andy," Scott said reading the young man's name tag, "and you're not going to get into any trouble as long as you cooperate with me. My name is Scott Wellington, director for the Foundation for Law and Government," he continued as he produced an ID card for the man, "The car belongs to our agency and we are just trying to recover it. So any information you can provide would be very helpful."

Andy glanced up at Scott's face then back down to the identification card. He seemed to be struggling with something for a moment, but whatever it was vanished as he looked back up again.

"He was a tall man, maybe six foot three or four. He came in a Ford Fusion. Brown hair, but it was gray around the edges and he was about your age. Michael, I think. He didn't give me his last name though," Andy said, glancing down at the mop bucket. Scoot nodded with a smile in his eyes.

"That's fine. I believe I know who it is. Now, please, tell me about the car you saw last night."

"It came in around 8:30 last night. I filled it up for the guy, but he didn't want me to check anything else, then he wanted me to type in the digits for the car wash. I thought it was kind of funny, but I always try to make the customer happy. I didn't know the car was stolen, I swear," Andy said as he looked up at Scott.

"I know you didn't. So then what happened?"

"Well, after that, it got even stranger. The guy said the money was on the passenger side, but instead of just rolling down the window he opened the door. I saw a little of the dashboard before he darkened it or something. It was crazy, but now it makes sense, it being a government car and all. Anyway, it was so dark inside I couldn't see who was driving, but the money was there with a good tip and I took it."

"Do you mean to say there was a driver and you couldn't see them or you couldn't see at all?" Scott asked with earnest; a slight British accent creeping in with his excitement. Andy gave him an incredible look.

"That's exactly what that other man asked? What is this? Am I on TV or something?"

Scott sighed. This was going to be a long interview process. By the end of thirty minutes, Andy knew he wasn't on television and Scott knew he had reached a dead end. The young gas station attendant hadn't seen anyone driving the car, but admitted he was too occupied by the dashboard and wad of cash to really be sure. FLAG's director was left with more questions than answers, one of which was what Michael Hatton was doing now. Scott made his way back to the tan town car and climbed into the back.

"Take me to the nearest hotel, Matthew," he said once he shut the door.

"Would you mind settling for an Inn, sir?"

"Yes, that'll be fine."

"On our way, Mr. Wellington," the driver responded. Just as Scott strapped in, his cell phone rang. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the device. He glanced at the number displayed and puzzled for a moment, until pressing the green talk button.

"Hello, this is Scott Wellington."

"Yes, Mr. Wellington, this is Maggie Flynn," an elderly woman's voice said. Admiration lit up Scott's features as he knew the name and voice well. Maggie had been on the Board of Trustees for Knight Industries so many years but retired from the position some time ago. Her name also appeared in charity events held in Los Angeles, some of which benefited the Foundation directly. However, chief among his reasons for appreciating her came from the secret they shared. He was expecting her call.

"Ms. Flynn, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked.

"I wish this were a social call only, old friend, but I'm afraid I have some very disturbing news to share with you. I'm not going to bore you with all the details simply because I don't have the time to go into the whole story. I know the Foundation hasn't been receiving the funds it used to, am I wrong?" Maggie asked quickly.

"No, it hasn't, but then that's precisely why we're so grateful for your charities' contributions to our cause," Scott stated, dreading, yet anticipating, the information he might receive.

"Oh, don't sound like that, I'm not cutting you off, but I think I found what has been chocking the resources out of you and the other non-profits in the area and it all leads back to this side project Knight Industries started ten years ago; True . . ." she paused.

"True Bolt," Scott supplied, his tone holding malice, "What did you find out?"

"That's just it; no one can give me a straight answer. It appears nobody knows much about it or what it does, at least not in my circles. I did what you said and checked into the accounting records and check approvals. According to statements, half of my donations have been going to this project over the last ten years. I can't say I designated it to, and believe me I will be asking for restitution, but contributions meant for FLAG are going to this secret development. So, you were right; follow the money. I tried contacting Jennifer Knight about this but she isn't returning my phone calls and it seems the other trustees can't be reached either."

"That's strange," Scott voiced as his brow knotted up in concern.

"Exactly what I was thinking and the reason I called. I know you've been burdened with this for years now and we're not getting any younger, but I think with Kitt missing this is finally coming to a head and it's time to lay all the cards on the table if you catch my meaning," Maggie said with determination. Scott, however, sighed discouragingly.

He felt like he was being pressed from all sides. He'd been steadily watching the decline of FLAG for the past ten years, hands tied in some respects, but always trying to find out who or what was behind it. All this while still trying to carry on the work of heading the Foundation alone. Then, five months ago, FLAG's operations was effectively decommissioned, costing him the only neutral investigators he had. Now, KITT was missing and he was learning everything he had feared was true. Knight Industries was playing an active role in the Foundation's demise with True Bolt being the terrible, undeniable reality it was. His disheartenment soon turned to anger, however.

"I do. I will get to the bottom of this, Maggie," he said determinedly. He could hear her approving smile.

"I know you will."

"Thank you for finding out all this for me. I'll take a copy of the statements you have."

"You're welcome. I'll get the documents to you via the old-fashioned way. Good luck."

As their communication ended, another cell phone conversation was taking place at an inn a couple of blocks from the gas station. Michael paced back and forth in the small accommodations as he spoke with Bonnie, parting the curtains to look outside every other pass or so. He was clearly upset.

"I guess me and Scotty are going to be neighbors now. Just what I need. Are you sure you didn't tell anyone where I was headed?" he asked in frustration as he threw his black jacket across one of the armchairs of the room.

"Yes, Michael, I didn't tell anyone and I took all my calls outside," she said, equally frustrated.

"Well, someone tipped off police that I was coming here. I spent the last two hours answering tough questions about a black car and a secret organization."

"I swear, I didn't tell anybody. I don't know how they could have . . . wait . . . but no one was in the room and it was so late. I used the office phone upfront once, but someone could have listened in from another line. I can't believe I didn't think of that . . . I'm sorry, Michael," she said with anxiety building up.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Bonnie. We're not even sure how many players are involved here. Besides, the cops didn't have any reason to hold me, if anything it lets me know whoever set this up doesn't have many details either. Just be careful. Someone's obviously listening in there but let's not let them know we're on to them, at least, not yet. Just remember to use your cell from now on, okay?" he said good-naturedly.

"I will. Oh, I almost forgot to ask, was there anyone with Kitt?" she asked.

"The kid at the gas station wasn't sure, but I think you're right; Kitt's alone. The only reason I can think he would run away is if he thought something was up, which reminds me. You said this morning it would only be a matter of time before the board of directors knew about this, but now you're telling me they're still in the dark. Something's just wrong here, I know it."

"I'll agree with you on that point."

"Nothing on Jonathan or BT Industries either?" he asked in disappointment. All that undercover work for nothing.

"No, Jonathan checks out fine, but I'm starting to wonder about some of the people here," she said thoughtfully.

"I don't blame you. If Mr. Gadson isn't getting us anywhere I think we need to start checking the other board members and maybe the Foundation as a whole," he reasoned.

"I can access all of Kitt's records tonight and pull up some histories on his past engineers and drivers, but it's going to take time for everything else," Bonnie stressed. Michael sighed. He knew she had to be just as exhausted and worried as he was. This had been a long three days.

"Look, Bonnie, what can I do to help?"

"Your job is to think like Kitt. If anyone knows where he could have gone from there, it's you. My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon."

"So you're gonna fly, huh?" Michael quipped, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Unfortunately, yes. Better than I was with it. I'll bring everything I can find with me and we'll swap notes. In the meantime, get some rest. Think _you_ can stay out of trouble for one day?"

"Well, I'm not planning on getting into any if that's what you mean, though I will be keeping an eye on Scotts."

"Good enough. See you tomorrow."

"Alright, goodbye," Michael said as he disconnected the call and set his phone down on the nightstand. He collapsed down on the double bed, which was too unstable for his liking, and rubbed his hands over his face while letting out a frustrated breath. He glanced at the small radio alarm clock on the nightstand; a decent amenity provided by the guest room at the inn. It was now 6:30. He wondered how his business was doing; how Jerry and Rick were carrying on with the tours. Rick had a tendency to slack off, but Jerry wouldn't hesitate to crack the whip if the need arose. Michael told them he would be gone for another few days; maybe longer now.

He had really hoped he would find some answers out here, but it appeared to be another dead end, just like RC's attempts at contacting the AI via radio. KITT had disappeared without so much as a tire track and now the local police were breathing down his neck as if he had stolen the car. On top of that, his only lead with Gadson panned out very little, not revealing much in the way of what was going on. How did he get in this position? Didn't he say he would never take up another case with the Foundation? Except this wasn't a case he was given; he took it upon himself to do this. Instead of running his own business, he was in Denver Colorado trying to take care of someone else's!

A moment of anger passed through him as he sat up on the bed. Why couldn't Scott have kept things in order? Devon never had a problem with keeping FLAG funded or operatives on board. Since Scotty took over the finances steadily went down the toilet and then what; the program had seven different drivers in the past ten years. No wonder KITT sounded like he was in a snit all the time. Michael knew how much the AI resisted change unless it was an upgrade to his systems. Heck, maybe KITT did run away just to get away from the constant idiocy.

Michael let out a breath of air as his anger subsided, replaced by guilt. If he were honest, he felt just as responsible for the sad state of Wilton Knight's dream. While Devon was still alive Michael was asked several times by the elderly man to become co-director. If he had then he would have been heading FLAG solely now. It was a strong offer and it hadn't been made lightly or out of sentimentality either. Michael was no stranger to leadership and Devon knew that. At a very young age, Michael was heading counter-intelligence missions for the United States military during Vietnam and before joining FLAG the man was steadily raising through police ranks. Even now he was running a successful business of ten years while maintaining a profitable hobby on the side. However, he refused Devon's proposal, claiming he was finished with all that and needed to live his own life again.

"How's that been working for ya?" he said bitterly to himself; memories of the past resurfacing.

After leaving the Foundation, he pursued what he hoped would be a long, stable relationship; something he hadn't had outside of Stevie. He really thought Lauren was different, but it ended just like so many others. He'd been in and out of quite a few relationships over the years, partly due to overactive hormones and wandering eyes, but mostly because he had been chasing after something to fill an empty void he couldn't shake. No matter how cliché it sounded, deep down he felt something was missing. Before Lauren and Stevie, before FLAG and the police academy, even before Vietnam and high school he had felt alone and all the friendly, charismatic charm in the world couldn't seem to amend that. Most of his current friendships suffered from the invisible scars and traumas he carried with him from his past. Losing people and being betrayed by others had him using distance as a way of coping. He might have made acquaintances easily but in a sea full of faces he was still alone.

He put those painful thoughts away and remembered something else; he didn't give up. Even when things got tough, whether he was deep in enemy territory, pounding the streets of Las Vegas or trying to find a connection, he kept trying. Devon had said to him once, 'No one ever suggested this would be easy, but then nothing worthwhile ever is.' Wilton Knight, while on his deathbed, believed in Michael and encouraged the younger to stay the course; that one man could make a difference. Michael's commitment to never give up had strengthened that day.

He couldn't say he had a perfect run with the Foundation for Law and Government, but he did have one thing while he was there; a passion. He was helping people, honestly doing good work for those who needed it and growing close to those who helped him do so. Michael Knight wasn't a quitter and right now, regardless of the mistakes and issues of his past, two people needed him to come through on this. He wasn't going to let Bonnie or KITT down.

"Alright, if I were Kitt, where would I go?"

* * *

_. . . It does not dishonor others . . ._


	7. Chapter 7

_Personal Log: June, Tuesday_

_. . . Well, since the cat's away . . ._

_Sandulf_

* * *

KITT didn't move; he couldn't. He was gripped with fear by the realization he may have been discovered. Dread lined his processor as this stranger slowly approached; this stranger who knew him by name.

New York suddenly felt like a very small place; as if the whole city had collapsed into the alleyway. He didn't want to activate his scanner again, hoping to avoid further identification, but he desperately needed the input. Who was this man?

Through his video monitor, KITT noticed the woman from 2-C was remaining still, hesitating to follow her partner's lead. She was no longer in pajamas going over a paper but, instead, wearing tan colored Capri pants with a flower-print T-shirt trying to make sense of the situation.

The man had on a white button-up shirt, gray slacks and a name tag with a company logo on it. He assumed they must be husband and wife judging by the wedding bands on their left ring fingers; matching fourteen karat white gold with carved designs not exceeding a five-hundred-dollar retail value . . . what was he doing? Too many jewel heist cases.

Anyway, the shock was evident on the woman's face and KITT could just imagine her thoughts. Here was the car plaguing her activities for the past three nights and now her companion seemed to know who it was. His alarm over the matter was just as intense, but he didn't have the same issue of clearly giving it away like she did.

"Honey, you . . . you know who that is?" she asked in a disbelieving tone. Her husband didn't turn his focus from the shiny black Pontiac as he nodded.

"I think so. Michael, is that you in there?" he asked. There was no response. KITT couldn't keep up with all the surprises. How did this man know Michael too? Had they met before? The extreme desire to answer those questions and ask them were being squelched by his ambivalence over the situation. The AI shouldn't be interacting with anyone, much less someone who knew him, right?

"Who's Michael? I thought you said Kitt earlier . . . Wait, is this _that_ Michael and Kitt?!" the woman asked, suddenly finding the courage to step forward.

"I hope so or else we're freaking the heck out of whoever's in there," the man said, sounding a tad skeptical. KITT switched gears and reversed away a little, but he could no longer resist the urge to gather more data. The crimson lights on the car's prow lit up and completed a side to side circuit, the distinguished whirring sound accompanying it.

"It is Kitt! Hey, Michael Knight, are you in there?" the man said eagerly as he came up to the driver's side window. KITT's dash lit up with the sudden influx of information. He knew this man, he had to. He quickly ran a search through his archives on cases with Michael, running images against thousands of pictures he had stored. The program located a definite match and KITT would have gasped if the gesture wasn't so completely unnecessary for a computer. This gentleman in his mid-thirties was:

"It's me, Darryl, Darryl Staples. Do you remember me?"

KITT couldn't believe it. Darryl, the reckless teenager he and Michael had rescued from brush fires near a national park in California, was standing beside him in New York City looking every part the polished, educated professional. The sudden warmth generated by meeting an old, familiar face after such a hard, lonely week melted through KITT's prudence.

"Of course, I remember you, Darryl. It appears you've done quite well for yourself since last I saw you," KITT said with his usual graciousness. A wide smile broke across the man's face.

"Thanks to you and Michael. Is he around?" Darryl asked glancing down each end of the corridor. KITT privately recoiled at the question. How was he supposed to answer that or should he? He couldn't lie; it went against his makeup, but he didn't want to outright reject questions either.

"Not currently. So, what have you been up to, Darryl?" KITT asked casually, hoping the subject change wasn't too abrupt. It didn't appear to be as Darryl smiled again; success.

"Well, I finally graduated high school as you can see and got into USC. In fact, I think I heard that uh . . . Dr. Barstow was going to teach there in my senior year, but I never got a chance to catch up with her. I graduated and have been nothing but busy since. I bet you'll never guess what I went in for," Darryl said.

"Computer engineering," KITT suggested, though his thoughts hovered more over the mention of Bonnie and the memories attached.

"That and information systems. How'd ya guess?"

"The emblem on the tag you're presently wearing matches that of a local research and computer technology laboratory not far from here."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Looks like you still got it."

"Thank you. And, if you don't mind me asking, who is the young lady behind you?" KITT questioned as the woman inched forward. Darryl turned back to face her, putting a hand behind his neck in a sheepish manner.

"Oh, sorry, where are my manners? This is Cassidy, my wife. We're going on seven years now. She's working on her doctorate in research psychology."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Staples. I hope the music I was playing last night didn't interrupt your studies," KITT said in an apologetic tone. She smiled.

"Please, Cassidy's fine and don't mention it. To be honest, the music was very nice," Cassidy said with delight in her voice, "So, you're Kitt."

"Yes, I see your husband must have mentioned me to you before," KITT said as he watched her move away from Darryl and circle the car's body.

"Ha, mention you. The way he carried on, you're the reason he got into computer science, to begin with."

"Really?" KITT said in surprise.

"Sure. When we first met in graduate school he would always tell everyone this story about how he was framed for arson and this freelance crime fighter with his talking car helped him out of it, but I can't say I believed him," she continued. Darryl smiled.

"Believe me now though, huh? Yeah, Kitt; you, Michael and Sid really left an impression on me back then. After meeting all of you and seeing all the work with those gadgets and computers, I just couldn't stop thinking about how I could do that and years later, here I am."

KITT remained silent for a moment as he took in the information. He had no idea he had left such a lasting impact on the youth. It made him feel valuable, which was a difficult thing for him to accept right now. Cassidy, on the other hand, was trying to understand how a car's finish could feel like baby's skin.

"Are you really a computerized car? There isn't someone hiding in there, right?" she asked suspiciously walking around to the passenger side door. KITT lightened the windows enough to reveal the empty cabin. In spite of herself, Cassidy gasped at the sight. There was no one in the car, but the voice emitting from it was so natural sounding . . . so human. Her eyes ran over the unique dashboard and she couldn't tear them away.

"Neat, isn't it?" Darryl asked as he crossed his arms and gave his wife a self-satisfied smirk. Cassidy didn't even care that her husband had been right; she just shook her head in amazement.

"This is remarkable," she said breathlessly before continuing in excitement, "This looks so high tech. Heck, it's better than anything I've ever seen. Look at the displays, the touchscreens and the features. Do all those buttons have a purpose? The dashboard practically wraps around the driver. Darryl, you said this car was fire-resistant and bulletproof, but feel this paint job, it's like silk and it can drive by itself. Kitt sounds so authentic and reacts so fast. Most computers can't even understand you or you can't understand it . . . um, no offense, Kitt."

Despite his sour attitude towards being seen as a novelty earlier, KITT couldn't help but beam at the admiration. It had been a while since he'd been esteemed for his sophisticated look and elegant presence.

"None's been taken, Cassidy. I have to agree that a majority of mainframes I come in contact with do have a difficult time maintaining a meaningful conversation. To answer your other question, yes, all my buttons have a purpose. Those two you're looking at now activate my ejector seats operated by my built-in turbojets and afterburners which also serve my turbine engine. I am also equipped with an electromagnetic field generator, microwave jammer, infrared tracking scope, and forty-five other capabilities that would make most fighter jets jealous."

Cassidy and Darryl gave a light chuckle as they both circled the car now. They were impressed. Darryl stopped once he reached the front end again.

"The inside does look a lot different then I remember," Darryl said.

"Yes, well I've had quite a few upgrades since we last met."

"You know, it's funny how you turned up now. Tomorrow, I'm going to show off my work in the Technologic Innovations' Expo up at the Javits Convention Center. Actually, it's something my wife and I have worked on along with the other guys on our team. It's an artificial intelligence unit like yourself, only I have to admit, it's not as advanced as you are."

"Why, thank you. I'm happy to hear I inspired the next generation of computer engineers and their work. What's it called?" KITT asked, fully intrigued.

"We call it the Dawn project, D.A.W.N. It stands for the Digital Analyzer of Warranted Narratives. It's a machine we hope will help the psychological community as well as the criminal justice world."

"Fascinating, I was afraid you might have made a Sid junior. How long did it take to develop?" KITT questioned while Darryl gave him a perplexed look over the Sid comment.

"We've been developing it over the past two years," Cassidy answered, "Randy and Nicole worked on it with us. Nicole does the programming while Darryl handles the hardware components. Randy's kind of like our supervisor; he gives us pointers here and there. I'm probably the least important part of the team. I just work on testing the system and getting our work out there."

"Nonsense, Cassidy, testing out new ideas is essential in the development process and aside from working on this project, you're finishing a doctorate program too. Don't sell yourself short," KITT chastised lightly.

"I'm starting to like you, Kitt," the brunette-haired woman smiled widely. The AI gave a quick flash of his red LED lights in good humor. The conversation continued and, from what KITT could gather, DAWN was far beyond the conceptual stages and was an actual working prototype. Their point of going to the Expo was to generate interest from potential investors. Before he could question the project further, however, Darryl interrupted.

"If anything you should go to the Javits Center tomorrow. How long are you going to be in town, Kitt?" the man asked, having no idea the effect his question would have on the sensitive computer. KITT allowed a couple of seconds to pass before he answered; a sign of his internal conflict.

"As long as the task takes, I suppose," he responded calmly, though his circuits were tingling with nervous electrical impulses. He was enjoying his discussion with the Staples, but he couldn't risk telling them he was alone out here, trying to avoid going back to FLAG. To be truthful, he probably shouldn't be talking with them at all. Yet, the desire to keep familiar company around was so alluring. He had been lucky so far but, eventually, they would ask a question he couldn't answer honestly without giving himself away and he didn't know how they would react; how anyone would react. Alas, he had to end this.

"Well, I believe you two were on your way in for the night and I've certainly taken up enough of your time."

"Forget about, Kitt. It was nice to see you again," Darryl said.

"Yes, and it will be a relief to know it's a friend, not a stranger in the alley tonight," Cassidy smiled.

"Thank you," KITT said warmly.

"I guess we'll head in. Look, if you or Michael need anything, don't hesitate to ask, okay. We're in apartment 2-C," Darryl insisted.

"I'll remember that. Thank you," KITT said quietly.

"Good night," both people said as they started walking to the apartment's entrance; excited chatter between them as they kept glancing back at KITT.

"Good night," KITT called after them as he tried not to be too disappointed. The chat had been a welcomed interruption to the hours of investigation he had engaged in earlier, but the emptiness created by their departure served to further cripple his already fragile state. The acute need to reach out for Michael and Bonnie increased tenfold and he was on the cusp of giving into it when a desperate surge of alarm gripped him. His processor gave out a frustrated hum.

"Why can't I call them? Why would that be such a terrible thing?" he demanded of his procedures. He could easily override the sensation and make the contact anyway. After all, Michael had told him once you have to face your fears to overcome them, but he couldn't. He gave out another electronic murmur of irritation.

How was he supposed to fix this if he couldn't discuss it with anyone? But how could he talk to them about it if it endangered them? Why would it put them in danger? What was the danger to begin with? It was all so maddening for the AI and he had little in the way of releasing that tension. This was how it had been for the past three nights and tonight would be no exception.

For the next few hours, he brought up all the calculations and data on the situation, beginning his methods of computing and compounding information; his front scanner racing. There were some theories he was able to raise. Maybe Jonathan was going to sell him off for profit or maybe someone else asked him to make the request or the man was being honest. He didn't have any way of verifying these assumptions. The intense strain he was placing on his CPU combined with the constant resistance of his strong, albeit denied emotions triggered the more recently added fail-safes KITT tried so hard to ignore for as long as he could.

"I don't need to sleep, I need to think," he commanded weakly as he could already feel the sleep mode procedures activating. He knew they were in place to help prevent damage and long-term wear on his processor but in his opinion, it was another human oversight. What if he needed more time?

'Please,' he pleaded as he tried to push his overheated systems. Sadly, just like previous nights, his current status was saved as it was and power slowly waned away from his processor. Resigning himself to his inevitable hybrid-sleep state, KITT gave the environment one last glance. Down at the other end of the alley, a rather tall man in his fifties walked by. Odd how the man had a black jacket on. Who would wear a leather jacket on such a hot summer night? He looked familiar though. Could that be . . . ? His scope of awareness was diminishing. _Prepare to standby_.

Silence filled the lane.

_**Last Tuesday Evening** _

To say Bonnie was upset would have been a gross understatement; she was downright overwhelmed with troubling emotions. Some of her distress was due to the rough trip from L.A. to Denver. Her flight had been delayed and then the awful turbulence over the Rockies rattled her already jumpy nerves. Now, she was waiting in a crowded airport for Michael to show up. She had called him this morning, giving him the arrival times, but he still wasn't here to pick her up. She hated flying. At least her meeting at the university had gone well and they were going to postpone Thursday's meeting. Still, these issues were just icing on the cake as far as she was concerned.

She smoothed out the creases in her modest peach dress as the real disturbance arose in her mind; the desire to share the information she had gathered from FLAG's records with Michael as soon as possible. The task of going through KITT's assignment records and official Foundation files had been a taxing endeavor as most of the data had been mundane, but she had compiled some facts she saw as both important and outrageous which included the shocking number of damages documented in KITT's log. One attack, in particular, made her stomach turn.

Apparently, some rather small and, altogether, nasty devices entered KITT's turbine engine via the exhaust manifold. Obviously, someone knew of the car's tailpipe being one of its few vulnerabilities. The tiny machines ravaged KITT's insides fairly quickly, taking mere seconds according to the report. Strong acids and high voltage currents seemed to be the culprits. The recovery process for the AI took Evelyn and a team of technicians two weeks. Bonnie would have helped them had she known about it, but she didn't and the surprises didn't end there.

She had discovered how some of KITT's past drivers had treated him and she was absolutely livid. The way some of these people drove made Michael appear like he surrounded KITT in bubble wrap and, more than that, Michael and KITT had been friends. She recalled several times hearing the concern for one another in their voices. That kind of friendship and respect made these reports even more embittering. These so-called drivers were just out-and-out careless. Accounts of overuse, misuse and abuse littered the reports; testimonies written by the drivers themselves painting a picture of disregard for the unique partner they were given.

One, Frank Nelson, was just a bad driver. Near misses, fender benders, dent and dings; they all seemed to be in a day's work for this guy. She was sure if it wasn't for KITT he would have killed someone or himself. Another, Joshua Brooks, really got her blood boiling. He was frequently reprimanded for using the backseat as a garbage can and KITT's roof, hood and doors as ashtrays since the AI refused to have the man smoke inside the cabin. The cocky operative always claimed it never hurt anything, but Bonnie could only imagine what it did to KITT's sanity let alone self-esteem. If she'd of known she would have put a cigarette out on Josh's face and seen how he liked it, though the possibility of being arrested for assault might have restrained her; might.

But, Bonnie hadn't known about the offensive handling and she didn't know which made her angrier, the fact no one mentioned these things over the past few days or . . . the fact KITT never told her. KITT's silence made her feel guilty more than anything. She may have always asked how he was doing and if he was being treated well, but he never complained, why? The answer to that was painful for her and she didn't want to go into the reasoning behind it all now, but she couldn't help it.

In her ten years of working with KITT, Bonnie knew the AI usually grew quiet under stress and didn't like to worry anyone 'unnecessarily', especially his technician; or was it just her? How many times had he glanced over a topic or side-stepped a question? More than she could properly count. She should have assumed more but the reality was she had grown apathetic towards that time in her life since leaving the Foundation.

She knew KITT would get damaged and that he would have to interact with difficult people; it went with the line of work the Foundation did, but . . . it was no longer her problem. She didn't have to maintenance KITT's systems or watch him pull away only to have to repair him when he came back. The years went by and she became busier. Out of sight truly was out of mind. Even though she stayed in touch, the distance created a detachment she wasn't even fully aware of until she moved back to Los Angeles. That's when she realized how casual she had been concerning KITT's well-being; right when she was about to lose him. For heaven's sake, she helped develop him . . . oh, how terrible she felt for ever being this careless.

With resentment and regret stirring up inside her, Bonnie stood up from her seat on one of the airport benches and decided to walk as a way to stretch and clear her head. She tried calling Michael again but was sent straight to voicemail, so she texted him 'where are you' instead. Coming to another bench closer to the door she decided to sit down again and resume her vigil for the black Ford Taurus Michael said he rented. She needed to talk to him about all this and particularly about three people, one of which was FLAG's current director.

According to records, and her experience with the man, Scott Wellington seemed to be a bit of a reclusive. He rarely interacted with anyone unless absolutely necessary and it was normally brief. Even over the past few days, he had stayed mostly to the mansion's upstairs offices, only coming down to check the status of things before returning there. _Never show up Scotty_ , as Michael dubbed him, was an accurate depiction of how the man handled most situations. Anyhow, she decided to do some digging to make sure there was no connection between Mr. Wellington's remoteness and KITT's disappearance other than lack of involvement. What she found was baffling if not disturbing.

The profile stated Scott had been a lawyer for twenty-five years before taking over FLAG with some background in running law firms and government bureaus. He was single with no family in the area to speak of; his only emergency contact was a business confidant. There were names of places he'd worked and awards he'd won, but something bothered her. Scott's application for acceptance was dated before Devon's death and it was even signed by Mr. Miles. She didn't think Devon would have been taking a very active role in Foundation affairs at that time. Then again it had been ten years ago and she wasn't exactly keeping tabs.

Another concern was Scott's past or the lack thereof. He didn't have any public records of any kind and, aside from what was on his resume, nothing dating back before ten years ago. No medical, dental, criminal or military history; not even fines or tickets. It was as if he didn't exist before working for the Foundation; kind of like someone else she knew.

"Where are you Michael?" she said through pressed lips as another black vehicle drove away from the airport's pickup gate. She looked down into her lap as more thoughts about her investigation came to mind. The suspicion that Scott may not be who he says he is got Bonnie interested in the choices he made in head engineers. Who exactly has been working on her KITT?

She had known April and Kimberly to be okay, but the others had been a bit of a mystery to her. She ran background checks on Tabitha Benson, Brian Cunningham, Raquel Gomez and Evelyn Williams. She found out they all had things in common such as graduating from MIT, continuing education in various other places and being skilled technicians, but there were some differences too, such as the way they approached their work. Tabitha seemed to be the most experimental, always testing new ideas and designing new technology. Brian appeared to be a straightforward mechanic, making repairs and adapting existing mechanisms to fit the need at the time. Raquel seemed to share Bonnie's style of professionalism and precision, but lacked caring and was incredibly stiff-necked unlike Bonnie ever was.

Evelyn was the last engineer to work on KITT and, apparently, the best. KITT admired her workmanship and attention to detail. Nevertheless, questions had arisen for Bonnie. During Evelyn's care, KITT had developed oddities, one of which was to play music during recharge. Reports stated Evelyn couldn't locate the source of the problem and wrote it off as a harmless adaptation of KITT's software. Bonnie found that to be a little out of the ordinary for such a skilled programmer and decided to do some extra digging. What she found alarmed her.

Evelyn Williams was, in actuality, Evelyn Stanton; possibly related to a Mr. John Stanton, a man who had accidentally reactivated one of the most dangerous inventions Knight Industries ever worked with; the Knight Automated Roving Robot or KARR. Flashbacks of being kidnapped by an alternate version of KITT and that same black sports car crashing through the back of the Mobile Unit sparked intense anxiety for Bonnie. She hadn't wanted that to affect her judgment, so she double-checked the information to make sure and found Evelyn was indeed a cousin of John's and had visited Los Angeles several times. The chance this was a coincidence and Evelyn may have no idea about her cousin's encounter with KARR or KITT was slim. In this trade, happenstance was a misnomer and all these things were only the surface.

"Hey, Bonnie," a warm voice said breaking into her train of thought. She looked up sharply from her carry-on into the cool blue eyes of the man formally known as Michael Knight. Old, familiar feelings came up mixing with her existing nervous ones.

"Oh, Michael," she said with just the right amount of grief, "What took you so long?"

"Well, hello to you too. Traffic was bad and it's not like I'm from around here," Michael said with a touch of agitation. Bonnie sighed. She didn't feel like starting an argument over this, considering her nerves were already on edge.

"Look, let's just get out of here, okay," she stressed quietly, standing to her feet and lifting her carry-on. Michael's features softened.

"Here, let me help you with that," he said quietly while taking her brown suitcase. She gave him an amused smirk; really who needed help with only one bag but she allowed him to take the luggage.

"We're parked right out there," he directed. He began walking towards a set of double glass doors but Bonnie hesitated; she was trying to regain her composure. She had so much to share with Michael and the sense she had little time to do it made her even more nervous. Before he got too far ahead, she began following, though his familiar black leather jacket and tall stature were always distinguishable in a crowd.

Once they reached the car, Michael placed her bag in the backseat while she climbed into the passenger side. He soon joined her in the driver's seat and they both sat in silence. Bonnie could feel the tense atmosphere, knowing this was awkward for both of them. Their past lives and backgrounds had lent to some pretty interesting interactions over the years; some of them in good humor, friendly conversations and sometimes more, but a lot of them were heated arguments usually stemming from the object of their search. However, burdened with the information she had now, she was more concerned than anything; for KITT, the Foundation, past and present employees, including her and Michael.

She glanced over at the man as he placed the key in the ignition and started the vehicle; eyes set forward, pretending to be more focused on flight checking the Ford than his passenger. She reached over her shoulder and pulled the seat belt down, knowing it was mandatory in most states and she saw Michael slowly decide to do the same. She wondered vaguely how often he did that, considering years of relying on KITT's passive laser restraint system and the man's reckless nature. Then again, she had always been the more safety conscious one of the two. Despite their differences and history, Bonnie didn't want to see harm come to Michael and she certainly didn't want this to be an irritating encounter.

"Michael, I . . ." she hesitated and that's all he needed. Michael looked over at her with a slight smile.

"I know. It's the biggest car they had and my knees still hit the dashboard," he joked. Bonnie's face lit up with a grin. Bless him, the man could still lighten any mood and make her smile. Well, with the ice properly broken . . .

"I guess I'll start with my notes . . ."

Bonnie went over what she had discovered concerning those who worked at FLAG as Michael drove back to the inn. She went over KITT's treatment and damages, Scott's past and Evelyn Stanton's relationship to John and thus possibly KARR. Their discussion lasted the car trip over and well into the evening. Michael listened intently from his spot in an armchair provided by the inn while Bonnie sat on the bed with papers and files spread out before her. He was troubled by the things he was hearing, but remained silent, constructing and destructing conclusions in his head, that is, until she dropped a name.

"Did you say Rider?" he asked quickly, cutting in once Bonnie paused.

"Yes, Abigail Rider. She was one of Kitt's drivers and one he seemed to actually like. Outside of you, Devon and I, Kitt mentioned Abigail more times than any other person working for FLAG. Why do you ask? Have you heard the name before," Bonnie asked skeptically. After all, Michael did have a reputation for getting around back in the day.

"No, it's more like I never heard that name get thrown around. Come to think of it, I didn't even know Evelyn's last name was Stanton," Michael mused. Bonnie brought a hand to her chin as that thought rang true.

"You're right, and now that you mention it, I don't think Kitt knew their real last names either. When I went through case logs and reports he always mentioned the last names Williams and Morton. I remember because when I went back to the hiring records I found their real names."

"That's probably because Kitt would have remembered a name like Stanton. He probably would have tied Evelyn back to John. Someone didn't want him to know," Michael said thoughtfully.

"Makes sense, but who? Scott?" Bonnie asked.

"Maybe . . . but the name Rider isn't familiar at all. Why hide her name? What happened to Abigail again? You said she disappeared or something?"

"Yeah, here," Bonnie said as she handed a folder over to Michael from the stack she had next to her and continued, "The report says she went home without Kitt after a recovery mission. She never came back."

"Missing or killed?"

"A body was never recovered and no evidence suggested a kidnapping. However, Brain told me that he didn't feel like Flag examined the incident completely. He left partly for that reason and because he could never convince Kitt to stop blaming himself for her disappearance."

Michael flipped the file open to reveal a three by five photo of a young woman, college-aged, with reddish-brown hair, green eyes and a slightly tan complexion. She was beautiful and oddly familiar to him, but he couldn't place her. According to the documents, she was also quite qualified for the job of lone crusader. A background in martial arts, computer hacking and even a piloting license made an impressive resume for someone so young. She had gone on scores of cases in the two years she had worked with FLAG and appeared to get the job done even if it was with a bit of chaos; like himself in those days. Either way, it looked like she could handle herself and the fact she disappeared from her apartment without a trace was disturbing. However, what bothered him most was the fact KITT never said anything about it.

"How long ago did this happen?" he asked, looking up at Bonnie. She seemed to already know the reasoning behind that question.

"About five years. He didn't tell me either."

There was a brief moment of somber silence between the pair before Michael spoke again.

"Let me see Evelyn's file."

Bonnie handed the requested folder over. Michael opened it and looked at the woman's picture. She appeared to be in her early forties with wavy, golden brown hair, gray eyes and fair skin. She certainly looked related to John. It stated she had been residing in the Oakland area before coming to Los Angeles to work for Knight Industries in 1994 then FLAG later on in 2000. The woman seemed well recommended by her previous employers with extensive knowledge in programming and reverse engineering. In fact, she graduated from Stanford University's engineering department, a location KITT brought up often as the place where some of his circuitry was developed. According to Bonnie, when this woman started to work on KITT, abnormalities started to show up. Michael didn't like where this was going.

"Okay, let me get all this straight," he began as he looked up to catch Bonnie's gaze, "The last ten years of Kitt's life have been a nightmare."

"Basically," Bonnie agreed.

"And he didn't say anything about it to you or me."

"Correct."

"Scott starts working for the Foundation ten years ago, has few credentials and no history to speak of. Never visits the estate."

"Right."

"Figures; I knew I didn't like that guy. Anyway, there was also mention of an internal investigation going on, but there were never any names, dates or conclusions."

"Yes, and don't forget that started before Devon passed away . . ." Bonnie added quietly.

"Right. Okay, so Scotty takes over, new people are hired, some of them mediocre others bozos, except for Abigail and Evelyn. One disappears and the other resigns after possibly tampering with Kitt. Something about that bothers me; wouldn't there be a record or at least wouldn't Kitt know about it? You even said his systems checked out fine," Michael questioned, not wanting to believe his friend might have been altered.

"It is possible, Michael. I got a chance to work with Evelyn over the weekend and she's good. All she would've needed was an opportunity to make changes while Kitt was offline. Most of those incidences I mentioned earlier would be just that. In the repair bay, she would have full authority and could slip under the radar during all the commotion. If she encrypted files throughout Kitt's programming and used the right camouflage, even Kitt wouldn't be able to identify the codes. He could be operating the secret protocols without even realizing it."

"What, like subconsciously?"

"Sort of, well, yes in a way that's exactly what it is. But what bothers me is that even a good programmer would have difficulty coming up with something to fool Kitt. I assume she's had some practice," Bonnie said ominously. Michael's expression darkened.

"Karr."

"Yes. I'm assuming her cousin told her about Kitt and Karr at some point and she must have pursued it."

"That still doesn't explain why Kitt's missing. Anyway, I thought the Foundation picked up the pieces the last time we dealt with Karr. Devon said he was having it all destroyed. What happened?" Michael asked in anger. Bonnie only shook her head.

"I don't know, Michael, and to be honest it's all speculation at this point. We still don't have all the information here."

"Well, I know where to start looking. When is the mobile unit due here?" he said as he stood up.

"Not for another few hours I would think. They didn't leave until Monday night. Why?"

"I think it's time I paid Scotts a little visit," he said, making his way to the door. Bonnie started.

"Michael, we can't trust him. For all we know he might be in on this whole thing," she stressed.

"Bonnie, I'm aware of that, but right now that man probably knows a whole heck of a lot more about this than we do and I can't just sit back, hoping this works out. If I confront him on this maybe I can get some answers or at least tell if he's a suspect or not," Michael explained strongly, turning a sharp look on the doctor. She bowed her head into her right hand with an exasperated sigh, before looking up again.

"Fine, but the only reason I'm letting you do this is that we don't have very many options. Do you want me to come with you?"

"No. One of us has to stay within their good graces and I vote for you. You should probably head back to your room for the night," he said with less intensity, more concern. Bonnie had to resist the urge of rolling her eyes.

"Please, Michael; I'm not leaving you alone in this. Scott already knows I communicate with you and if he was the one listening in on our conversation then I might be out of his good graces already, though he didn't seem to act differently towards me," she mused.

"Either way, I'd like it better if you didn't end up in the middle of all this just in case it does turn out badly . . . "

"Wait, I might have an idea," Bonnie said as she reached over for her purse. She pulled out what looked to be like small hearing aids. She presented one to him on her outstretched hand.

"What is it?" he asked, taking the tiny device from her.

"They're like the comlinks you used to use. You place it near your ear and it's nearly invisible. I'll be able to hear everything you hear with this one and vice versa. It can also snap pictures and send them back to my laptop. It also has a GPS locator," she smiled.

"And where did you get these?"

"I made them. Never stop tinkering. Here, let me show you how they work . . ."

Soon, Michael was headed towards the upper levels where the executive suites were. Bonnie was in his room making adjustments to her laptop to receive pictures and record audio as he neared the room Scott Wellington was staying in. Bonnie knew the mobile unit wasn't coming for another hour as she had called back to FLAG to check and Michael knew Scott was by himself as he had watched the private driver go down the hall.

She pressed record.

He knocked on the door.

"Matthew, is that you?" a seasoned voice said from within.

"No, it's Michael."

* * *

_. . . it is not self-seeking . . ._


	8. Chapter 8

_Encrypted Email: June, Wednesday 13:30_

_Dear S,_

_They're all in Denver. I just got here, but the rolling carriage got in this morning. They have no idea what's really going on just like you said, but I'm afraid they may be starting to put the pieces together. That guy is here too, and you're right; it is Michael Knight. I thought he went missing or something. Just let me know when it's time to move in. I'll need at least a day to pinpoint Kitt's exact location and I don't want to hang around here too long. Did you set up what you needed at the Foundation?_

_ES_

* * *

_Was that Albinoni's Adagio in G minor?_

KITT booted up from sleep mode, bringing all his systems into full online status. Once finished, he gave his surroundings a quick inspection. He determined he was still in the alleyway just inside Brooklyn with a tan tabby cat sleeping underneath his rear left wheel well and, once again, he must have been the source of compositions throughout the night because the music had stopped. As with every other time he awoke like this, he had to clear his processor of cluttered memory files and stray protocols. The thought that he had been engaging in this strange activity for years now bothered him to no end. He had tried in the past to search out why his systems felt the need to become a virtual jukebox during his power saving mode, but it proved fruitless. Nothing ever came up as mistaken or misaligned. Evelyn told him that it was just an endearing quirk he must have picked up. To him, it was an indelible glitch he didn't wish to possess. He wondered vaguely if it wasn't just human miscalculation again.

Fortunately, the phenomenon didn't happen every time he recharged or powered down, at least, he didn't think so. Normally, KITT could go into sleep mode and remain aware enough of his surroundings to arouse if need be, but anytime he fell into this particular form of standby sensory numbness followed; probably how the cat got onto his tire. Nevertheless, lack of sensation wasn't even what bothered him most about the habit. Usually, he would come out of sleep fully charged and ready to go; refreshed for lack of a better term, but right now he felt . . . hazy, almost muddled. Not a pleasant feeling. It would wear off soon but his 'endearing quirk' had now happened four nights in a row, a disturbing new record.

"If I had nerves, this would be most unnerving," he said quietly. His attention was drawn away from those thoughts though as his sensors picked up the shifting of the small creature occupying his tire.

He could easily get rid of the feline by any number of ways ranging from hydraulic lifts to recorded dog barks, but he ran a medical scan instead. The poor old girl had certainly seen better days but showed some signs of care. Obviously, she was a feral cat but had been sterilized, evidenced by the tipping of her left ear. KITT also picked up that the feline was a healthy weight for its age, a sign of being fed. However, there was a slight degeneration of cartilage in the cat's back legs. The heat he absorbed yesterday was probably very inviting to the feline's arthritis overnight.

The fact he hadn't picked up it crawling onto him last night was a testament to his deadening senses during musical sleep mode. Had he been aware he would have put a stop to it. KITT wasn't very fond of animals and for good reason. They smelled, shed all over the place and left dander in every available crack and crevice, not to mention their questionable restroom behaviors. This cat was probably pawing and rubbing all over him last night, but even with that disdainful thought, he couldn't bring himself to startle the sleeping old cat.

_I've really grown too soft over the years_ he thought tiredly, but if he were being honest, he'd admit he'd always had this sensitive spot, ever since he was first activated. Memories of coming online in a Washington defense mainframe where agents and bureaucrats wanted nothing more than a voice command program to go over the facts weren't pleasant. He remembered being so frustrated when his attempts to converse with people were rebuffed or even reprimanded. How was he supposed to help protect human life if he couldn't even reach out to said human life?

KITT tried. He had tried hard, very hard, to do just his job and be the _computer_ he was supposed to be; as they told him to be. It worked for a little while; hiding his personality behind a dull façade of facts and giving flat line responses to inquiries, but the oppressive environment they kept, day in and day out, had finally gotten to him and one day he mouthed off, though it was more like text on a screen as he had no voice back then.

**I will not compromise my principle function here just because you have an unwarranted fear of dialogue from a computer. I will also not tolerate being degraded for holding that standard.**

However, he did it on a day in front of someone deemed very important. That, someone, had been Wilton Knight. KITT hadn't even known Mr. Knight was there, having never heard the man's voice before or since. Had he, KITT's words might have been chosen more carefully. He remembered the sensation of dread he had after communicating it as he had no idea what they would do with him now. But, instead of being punished, he was praised. From that point on, things for the AI changed dramatically. He was repurposed and introduced to a new life far greater than he could have imagined. The process was grueling at times but the benefits far outweighed the costs.

KITT had mobility in the form of an incredible automobile with more features than a multiplex movie theater and access to unlimited data banks via satellite links and memory modules. He could fulfill his primary function of protecting human life on an intimate level and play a more active role with the ability to speak with the people he helped by means of a voice uniquely his own. The only unfortunate thing to arise from this transformation was his inability to properly thank the man who made it possible; the man who believed in him. Wilton Knight passed away before KITT could show his appreciation, but not before ensuring the best thing of all for the AI to have received was in place; KITT's very first friend, Michael.

Michael had made all the difference. If KITT needed clarification on social issues, he could ask and Michael would supply an answer. If ideas or situations couldn't be approached with his brand of logic, Michael gave the insights needed. Grant it, there wasn't much choice in the matter considering the nature of their work together, but Michael had lent himself to being a sounding board for the AI's curiosities in human emotion and behavior, and whether KITT acknowledged it or not, his own feelings and actions. Even in the computer's naivety, Michael would encourage him in certain areas and correct him in others. Michael hadn't just been a friend; he had been KITT's best friend.

Abruptly, he was brought back to what had him reminiscing, to begin with; the cat was now purring loudly as it made itself more comfortable.

"Oh, great," he bemoaned, though secretly he was enjoying the old feline's company. It had been so long since anything living and breathing spent so much time close to him. He took comfort in the fact the tiny animal felt safe and secure there with him. If only he could feel that same security in his own situation.

Suddenly, the sound of a large engine cut through his preceptors. The cat bolted up. He scanned the area and picked up a garbage truck at the other end of the alley preparing to pick up a dumpster. His furry tenant took off as the sound of clanging metal rattled its nerves.

"I guess I don't have to worry about that anymore," KITT said wryly, watching the feline scramble down the corridor. Looking down at the other end of the alley reminded him of the man he saw last night. He brought up what he was able to record briefly onto the video display for analysis. His uneasiness rose. The person was the right age and height to be Michael, but could he be sure with such limited evidence . . . wait a moment. KITT zoomed in on the image of the man's feet. It was Michael; he'd recognize those boots anywhere. His anxiety spiked. Where was Michael now?

He went into long-range surveillance but was only bombarded with too much data to sift through. On top of that, Mr. Wellington took out his DNA recognizer several years ago. If Michael was still in the area he had no way of pinpointing where at this time. Strong sensations and questions began to ripple within him triggering waves of distress.

Part of him wanted to be relieved Michael was here but another was frightened. Did Michael know where he was? The desire to seek the man out was shadowed by the thought of whether the man was alone or with FLAG. Why hadn't his former partner spotted him? The idea of Michael informing him about what was going on was chased away by the shock of being found so quickly. Did FLAG even know Michael was here? He still needed more time. Why was Michael here? Michael was still in danger. The whole Foundation was in jeopardy . . . there was that thought again? Maybe, he was over-generalizing his anxiety, except he had never done that before. Technically, he shouldn't feel anxiety at all, but he honestly sensed FLAG was in danger too, yet FLAG was the problem. How odd and alarming.

Either way, he knew he had to leave this area immediately if he wanted to remain in hiding. It was pure luck Michael hadn't stopped or spotted him last night. Even though this had been a perfect place to hide, he couldn't take the outside chance Michael was still around the area. He turned over his engine, placing it into silent mode, before edging forward towards the noisy street. As he made it to the end, voices coming from the apartment building entrance attracted his attention. It was Darryl and Cassidy, probably on their way to the expo, judging by their attire of matching blue polo shirts and gray pants. However, they didn't sound too pleased.

"It starts at eleven and we have to be there by ten to secure a vendor spot, not to mention set up. It's already seven o'clock and now we don't have any way of getting Dawn to the Javits Center!" Darryl stressed, obviously upset.

"I know, I know! There's nothing I can do, Darryl. Randy said the delivery guy backed out this morning. He's trying to find someone else, but I don't think it's going to happen. Most companies want a day in advance," Cassidy replied, trying to remain patient and supportive.

"Well, what about a taxi or something . . ."

"Right, because a cab driver's going to allow you to hitch up a trailer," she said sarcastically. The man gave out a frustrated breath of air.

"There's got to be something. We've worked too hard on this to let it all fall apart, now."

"How about we get down to the lab, then we'll go from there. Who knows, maybe Randy found someone."

Kitt inched forward a little more as the couple approached his vicinity. The Javits Center was located in West Manhattan; a good fifteen miles from here and a decent thirty-minute drive in New York City traffic. He could hide with more ease in the hustle and bustle of midtown, but the issue of parking in that area was a major setback. But, with some help . . .

He wasn't thrilled about the prospect of a trailer being involved, but if it were connected properly it wouldn't pose a threat to his sensitive alpha circuits. Besides, it was an opportunity to help the young couple's dream come true. Now, if they would take his invitation . . . that was a whole other matter. They could begin to ask the wrong questions. Was this plan worth the risks? He had a second to make a decision as they were going to hail a taxi. Well, if he couldn't go back to FLAG . . .

"Excuse me, but it looks as if you two could use a lift," KITT projected politely as he rolled out into the sunlight. Darryl and Cassidy stopped, looking down at the car with a mix of bemusement and delight.

"Hello, Kitt," Cassidy greeted.

"Yeah, hi, Kitt," Darryl responded a little more distractedly.

"Good morning, to you both. I couldn't help but overhear your dilemma concerning a means of getting your project to the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center. If I may suggest, since I haven't much to do at the moment, allow me to assist you in getting it there," KITT said, trying not to sound too forward or eager. Darryl quirked an eyebrow before squinting at the automobile's prow.

"What about Michael?"

'Yes, what about Michael indeed' KITT thought sadly. Maybe . . . no, he couldn't go to Michael right now. Instead, he needed to come up with a suitable response as his hesitation might signal something wrong. No lying, but he could refuse to provide an answer.

"I'd rather not say at the moment, but what I can say is that I do want to help you and this is a limited time offer as I do have other obligations as you may guess."

"I say we take it," Cassidy suggested excitingly. An opportunity to see such awesome technology up close and personal was a good enough reason for her.

"Well, I really wouldn't want to put you through the trouble . . ." Darryl began, teetering on a decision. KITT opened his doors invitingly.

"Please, Darryl, allow me to help. I assure you the pleasure would be all mine as it isn't every day I run into a familiar face in this line of work. Not to mention, I want to meet this DAWN project of yours. It sounds most intriguing," KITT replied. Darryl shook his head, but he held a giant grin on his face.

"Okay then; if you insist."

"I do insist," KITT quipped, but his being ached. How was it he could permit them and not Michael or Bonnie? Oh, if Bonnie saw what he was doing right now she would probably have him stripped.

_'You allowed two people into your cabin, one who was once a juvenile delinquent you haven't seen in eighteen years and the other a complete stranger.'_ He could hear her upset, worried voice and it did sound like a reasonable response to the current situation. This could be a mistake, but then so could this whole venture. However, when Cassidy made her way around to the passenger side and Darryl climbed into the driver's seat, their awed faces boosted his self-confidence.

The doors shut and the pair just sat for a moment taking in the interior and commenting on the brilliance of it all. KITT watched as Darryl took the steering yoke, seeing the enthusiasm in the young man's eyes as if Darryl had been transported back to 1986 when he was first allowed to take the wheel.

"Hey, do you mind if I . . ." Darryl began, but KITT had already anticipated the request.

"Not at all, be my guest."

The red auto cruise display switched to normal as the car went into manual mode, giving the driver control of the vehicle. In years past, KITT would have preferred keeping people out, but, compared to some of his former FLAG drivers, Darryl and Cassidy felt safe. Anyhow, he was soon to be on his way to Manhattan with these two likable companions and, with any luck, he could gain more access to technology that would help him with his case. Only one more issue came to mind for the AI; he needed to look as less like himself as possible in case Michael was still in the area.

"Darryl? Cassidy? There is one thing I would like to ask you."

"What's that, Kitt?" Darryl smiled.

"How do you feel about riding with the top down?"

_**Last Wednesday, Midnight** _

Scott Wellington didn't appear duly surprised by Michael's presence when he opened the suite door. In fact, he had an awfully pleasant smile on his face for someone being disturbed at midnight. Michael narrowed his eyes, having the sinking feeling he had been expected.

"I'm glad to see you're still here. I was afraid you might have left. I was hoping to meet with you later today, but this works just as well," Scott grinned.

"Yeah, I'll bet," Michael frowned. He couldn't believe this guy . . . wait . . . "Still here? You knew I was in Denver . . . You're the one who called the cops!"

"Please, keep your voice down. Of course, I called them. I needed you to remain in town until my arrival. You do have a reputation of just taking off."

"Look, Scotty, I don't know what you ever had against me, but the feeling is officially mutual."

"Against you? Why, Michael, it's quite the opposite, I assure you," Scott said with an air of offense.

"Like heck it is! Let's just cut to the chase. I think you know a lot more about Kitt's disappearance than your letting on, not to mention the secret dealings you've been involved with at the Foundation. I know about your so-called past credentials and the shoddy hiring process at Flag," Michael sneered. He was satisfied by the look of shock that crossed the other man's face. However, Scott quickly reigned in his surprise.

"I assume I won't be able to persuade you from this line of questioning, am I right?"

"What do you think?"

"Can we go for a walk, Michael?" Scott asked calmly. The question threw the taller man off guard, but not for long.

"Actually, I'd like to stay here if you don't mind," he responded with mock politeness. Scott scowled.

"Still suspicious as ever, eh? Fine, you can wait here while I go down the hall to get some ice," the man said in a clipped voice as he stepped out of the room, forcing Michael to stand aside. Scott shut the door and began walking down the corridor. Michael let out an irritated breath before reluctantly following. He heard his earpiece beep for an incoming transmission.

"Be careful, Michael. This could be a trap of some kind," Bonnie's voice came over.

"I know," Michael whispered as he stayed a few steps back, "but I think we may be on to something here and I'm not going to let go that easily."

He closed the gap between him and Scott, noticing for the first time how familiar the other man's stride was. It was crisp and driven, almost military in nature, something Michael was used to. Maybe Scott had a past after all. As they fell in pace side by side with each other, Michael glanced over at the pensive look the older man wore. He couldn't help but wonder what was running through Scott's mind. Was the director worried about alleged guilt in all this or just deep in thought about his next move? Suddenly, Scott looked up at him.

"How much do you know?" the older man said in a low, anxious tone. Michael quirked an amused eyebrow; the cage was rattled.

"I think I'm entitled to know why you wanted to talk to me first."

"I was simply going to ask you what you had found about the Knight Two Thousand's whereabouts," Scott began.

"Like you don't know," Michael said.

"I assure you, I don't. If I did I wouldn't be way out here consulting gas station attendants about where h- it is," Scott exclaimed in frustration; the strong emotion behind the statement not lost on Michael. It sounded like Scott actually cared about what happened to KITT. That certainly changed things.

"Fine, if you really don't have anything to do with Kitt's disappearance and you want my help, why would you have me investigated by the police?"

"I believe I answered that one for you already and you have yet to answer my question. But, let's just say, it was a test to see how committed to this you really are. I don't believe looking for Kitt has anything to do with your fishing business," Scott said with a smug smile. Michael glared.

"Alright look; I know you don't have any records before starting with Flag and that you kept the identities of Abigail Rider and Evelyn Stanton from everyone. The question is why?"

Scott's appearance turned more serious. He glanced back for a moment and then looked up at Michael.

"We can't speak out here," he said casually, "Where is your room?"

"How do you know I'm staying here?" Michael asked in an equally relaxed tone, though inside, his mind was spinning. He didn't want Scott knowing Bonnie was here with him. She was the only confidant on the inside of the Foundation he had.

"Oh, come now, I was a lawyer for years and I do have some investigative abilities."

"You paid the manager off?"

"Exactly. Now, unless you're not alone, I don't see why talking in your room would be any less preferable than mine," Scott asked as he faced forward.

"Right, so what is wrong with talking in your room?" Michael stalled, trying to give Bonnie time to either hide or leave. Scott gave him a side glance.

"Ah, so you're not alone. Dr. Barstow, can you hear me?" the older man asked with self-satisfaction. Michael and Bonnie staggered at Scott's comment. Speechless, the taller man narrowed his eyes as his ear buzzed with nervous questions. The director sighed.

"Listen to me, Michael. I am on your side, but you are going to have to trust me, even if you don't like it or understand it," Scott said genuinely. The former FLAG operative placed his hands on his waist and eyed Scott carefully. He had a knack for knowing whether someone was telling the truth or not and even though he didn't particularly like Mr. Wellington, the man was being sincere.

"Well, it doesn't seem like we have much choice."

Without another word, Michael began walking down the hallway, followed closely by Scott. The two men reached the room Michael was staying in and opened it via the key card given to the guests for their accommodations. Bonnie was seated at the desk provided in each room but quickly stood up, wasting no time in asking questions as soon as they were inside.

"How did you know I was here? I didn't tell anyone but Michael . . . unless you've been tapping into my cell phone conversations?" she asked, her tone accusatory.

"No, I just expected no less. You did tell me you were heading back to the University for your meetings but you failed to give me a time you would be back. Taking into account your considerable investment in locating the Knight Two Thousand and your past involvement with Mr. Hatton, it was no stretch of the imagination that you would be out here helping him," Scott said smoothly. It looked like he was about to say something else, but he stopped, looking very tired all of a sudden.

"Fine, you knew we were here, but you haven't given me any real answers. How did you know I was looking into this? Why were Evelyn and Abigail's last names hidden? Why does Jonathan Gadson want to move headquarters and why don't I buy you were just a lawyer before taking over Flag?" Michael snapped. Bonnie also glared as she walked over to join Michael's side.

"Yes, and explain why you never visited the estate before and why you had no idea Kitt's maintenance was so substandard? While you're at it, you can explain why most of the drivers you hired wouldn't even pass a basic background check to work at a fast-food restaurant let alone operate Kitt."

Scott smiled, but the emotions in his eyes were mixed. Before he bowed his head, Bonnie swore he looked like he was about to cry. The well-dressed man shook his head a beat and then looked back up with narrowed eyes.

"I will be happy to explain, but you must understand one thing; I am not your enemy nor will I be treated as such," he warned.

"Yeah, well, we'll be the judge of that," Michael sneered. Scott's eyes flashed.

"You'll judge?! You don't even know the severity of what's truly going on here, let alone the danger Flag is in. This is more than just a simple case of hidden names and missing cars."

"Maybe, but it's not like you helped matters with calling the police on me or hiding all this, to begin with. Do you see where a guy can get a little suspicious?" Michael replied curtly. Bonnie could see this was going to lead to an argument, but she didn't much feel like playing referee. Scott only sighed.

"Yes, I can, but my reason for doing all of this was to protect you. No seriously. Michael. Bonnie. You two were there in the beginning when FLAG's finest operations began and you have shown a vested interest in its welfare ever since; grant it, from a distance, but still. I am grateful for that. Others haven't been as faithful or even worse. There are serious concerns both within Knight Industries and the Foundation itself and I need help straightening the mess out, but I have few people I can trust. I'm reluctant to ask for your help because I know what lies ahead and I know how you two are."

"Then you should already know what my response is going to be. I'm here to help Kitt, not necessarily the Foundation. I am going to figure this out with or without _your_ help," Michael stated. Scott sighed again.

"Understood, but please consider this carefully. I'm afraid it won't be that easy."

"Well, someone once told me nothing worthwhile ever is," Michael stated, causing Scott to look up at him with an expression of surprise.

"I have one condition," Bonnie said firmly. Scott turned to address her.

"Yes?"

"Once we do find Kitt, he stays with us in Los Angeles."

"But I have no control over . . ."

"No ifs, ands, or buts. I have a feeling once all this is over you'll be able to work out a way for Kitt to stay," she said shrewdly. Scott gave out a short breath of air. He looked up at the taller man who seemed to be in agreement.

"I hope you are right. I'll see what I can do."

"Good. Now, start by sitting down and telling us what's going on," Michael directed as he leaned against the desk and offered Scott the lounge. The older man took a seat as Bonnie resumed her seat in the small office chair.

"I'm afraid this all involves a terror-driven scandal starting way back in 79'; one I've been actively trying to resolve over the past ten years. I must inform you two, once I give you this information you will not be able to back out of it. You will be involved in something quite dangerous and irreversible; I mean it. This is your last chance to go now and leave this all alone," Scott said in a grave tone. The pair looked at each other briefly, catching the resolve in the other's eyes, before looking back to Mr. Wellington.

"We're not going anywhere," Michael said.

"So, please, continue," Bonnie finished.

"Very well. Like I said earlier, this seems to stem from a scheme started more than twenty-five years ago or, at least, that is as far back as I can find evidence for. It appears to involve undermining research and development organizations in an effort to steal information and technology. You might even remember some of the cases as Flag prevented a few, the Wimbledon and Melbourne case for one."

"I do remember that one. 89' I think, but that appeared pretty low key," Michael interrupted.

"Yes, I believe they wanted it to appear that way at the time. Most companies in the late eighties didn't even know what was happening until it was too late. They would have to liquidate their businesses and sell their ideas to unknown third parties. Mind you, these groups might have been small, but their innovations were not. By the early nineties, larger institutes began to report the same strange phenomenon. Records show Flag becoming even more involved with places ranging from scientific college labs to design companies of electric cars. Years of research were being drained from these establishments just like the others; however, in the late nineties more dangerous targets were being obtained like military suppliers, intelligence agencies and weapons manufacturers. What these people are doing with the information and technology their acquiring is a frightening mystery," Scott narrated.

"Has the technology resurfaced somewhere else? Maybe a rivaling company?" Bonnie asked.

"No, the technology never reappears. It's my belief that whoever is behind this purposefully runs the target out of business so the equipment can't be reproduced, but as to why I don't know."

"Hasn't the FBI gotten involved?" Michael asked.

"Yes, but it never led to the desired results. A few small players were caught but the game continued and that's been dangerous for all involved. The group who cashes in on these misfortunes is running the most complex display of organized crime I've seen to date. I believe there are even key members of law enforcement and government involved. Are you familiar with Kasper Institute, Clifton's Techsystems and Reba Incorporated?"

"I think so. They all collapsed in 1995," Bonnie supplied with a look of ill-ease. She had come into contact with Kasper and Reba through her employment ventures at one time or another.

"Yes, well, they were all attacked at once and members of their staff turned up dead. Cardiac arrest, stroke, severe diabetic hypoglycemia, seizures; it's one of the things they share in common with most of the other raids during that time period. My understanding is these people were getting too close to the truth and were eliminated via extreme poisonings. However, the coroner's offices all ruled in favor of natural death being the causes so no further investigations were ever done."

"And now Knight Industries has become the next target with Kitt being the bullseye," Michael stated, crossing his arms and connecting the dots.

"Yes, I'm afraid so and it hasn't been a recent development either. Knight Industries has been in their sights for some time now."

"How long did Devon Miles know?" Michael asked with a certain edge to his voice. Scott looked up sharply, blue eyes shimmering with shock and dismay.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked. Michael narrowed his eyes.

"You said earlier you've been trying to solve this actively for ten years, it's been going on for at least twenty-five. Devon had ordered an internal investigation according to the records Bonnie pulled, so obviously he knew something about this," Michael clarified though he didn't even like the direction he was taking it. Scott bowed his head and nodded.

"Unfortunately, by 1992 Devon Miles suspected Knight Industries might have been infiltrated by this third party in the form of a project called True Bolt. It's documented as a development for alternative energy, but I've now learned it is nothing more than a black hole for funds received; funds meant for Flag. Devon tried to bring all this forward but didn't have the proper evidence for embezzlement charges. He instigated a private internal investigation by 93' and was making progress in finding those responsible until . . ." Scott's voice caught in strong emotion and he stopped. Even with the precursor, Michael's blood still ran cold.

Had Devon become a victim of this? Always growing sicker and sicker and all those times on the phone, in visiting he never mentioned a thing; not a thing. Why? In all that time why hadn't Devon ever said anything? How could this happen? Michael's stomach twisted as he thought about the many times Devon requested help heading up the Foundation. All those times he outright refused. Why hadn't Devon just told him he thought Flag was in danger? Why hadn't the man explained the danger he was in?! The regret gave way to anger.

Bonnie could see the seething volcano Michael was becoming as he clenched his fists. She was upset about Devon too, but at this point, it wasn't Scott's fault and they needed the information. She decided to intervene, if for nothing more than to save her nerves which were already too fragile to deal with explosive outbursts.

"So, you believe Knight Industries can't be trusted," she stated. Scott's gaze lingered on Michael for a moment before he looked over at her.

"Yes, and it leaves aspects of the Foundation, therefore, questionable. That's why I don't travel to the estate and why my past has been hidden. That's also why I try to appear incompetent and hired half the characters I did. I didn't want anyone discovering my real agenda there."

"That explains a little bit, but did you really have to hire people so hostile towards Kitt?" Bonnie continued.

"Contrary to what most of the official written reports say, I assure you the Knight Two Thousand is no angel, Dr. Barstow. I purposely omitted certain details of Kitt's behavior in order to avoid questions from the Board. Oh, but how the rumors flew about there being an unmanageable side to the Foundation in the form of a talking car."

Michael and Bonnie both looked at Scott as if he'd grown a second head. Certainly, the man wasn't talking about the same AI.

"What do you mean? Kitt has always been manageable, opinionated maybe, but never unruly," Bonnie said with a defensive edge to her voice; the tone of an overprotective friend or parent.

"Don't get me wrong, Bonnie; Kitt appears to behave for most people and I believe it was only when provoked he did otherwise. But _accidentally_ ejecting operatives from the driver's seat or _unintentionally_ leaving them behind after a mission to walk home or even being _somewhat_ obstinate makes for some explaining to do."

"What about Abigail then, he seemed to like her. Who was she really?" Bonnie asked.

"A company called Rider Enterprises came to me several years back. They were noticing similar issues in their research department and wanted Flag's help. I spoke with the owner, James Rider, who is also the founder of the Dynamic Aerial Rescue Team or Dart. We decided to pool our resources and team up, but it didn't turn out like we'd hoped. I'll spare you the details, but in 1998 James was found dead in his Phoenix home from a supposed heart attack. Several designs for stealth devices were missing and the company was left to flounder. Luckily, I was able to keep Rider Enterprises from collapsing by convincing Knight Industries to invest in some of its venues. Even Kitt has some of their stealth technology, but Rider still incurred some losses. I received a call from James' granddaughter, Abigail, shortly after. She wanted to work for Flag and continue the work her grandfather and I started. She wasn't going to take no for an answer, so I took her on board and protected her identity as best I could. She was one of the few I could trust and it appeared Kitt felt the same way about her."

"So where is she now? Her file says she disappeared," Bonnie questioned.

"Another setback I'm afraid. In 2000, an item was stolen from Dart, a classified rescue helicopter. The pilot, Matthew Hunts, was killed in the incident. Abigail and Kitt were able to retrieve the helicopter, but she insisted something was missing from it and needed to pursue that along with other responsibilities. Where she is now is on a need to know basis. She is safe, but I can't go into any more detail than that."

Bonnie narrowed her eyes.

"Alright, what about Evelyn Stanton working on Kitt's systems . . ."

"Yes, the woman with ties to the infamous Karr."

"How much is Karr involved here?!" Michael jumped in suddenly, pushing away from the desk.

"More than I care to admit. As I understood it, after your last encounter, all remains of Karr were taken back to the Foundation and destroyed, right down to the CPU. It was documented and accounted for, but I am not so sure those files were accurate. Mind you, I don't believe Karr's back in the sense you remember it, but I knew Evelyn was aware of the prototype," Scott sighed.

"You knew and you still let her . . . !?" Bonnie began.

"I knew, but it was the Board that placed her, not me. And, it was also the Board's decision to hide Evelyn's last name and past information when she first began working for Knight Industries. I only found out about it through Abigail's investigation. That's where my fear lies. I know persons on the Board are a part of this, as well as someone in accounting and the R&D department, but I can't prove it. Jonathan Gadson was actually trying to help me. He doesn't know all the reasons behind it, of course, but he agreed to fund Flag and move the Knight Two Thousand to Seattle for its safety. If there's anyone I don't trust its Dr. Phillips. He has been trying to undermine FLAG since the day he was commissioned."

"So wait, these people are out to steal Kitt, might even have him already, and you're trying to keep it a secret from the Board because you think they may be in on it," Bonnie reasoned, feeling ill.

"Exactly. For what it's worth, I don't believe these people have Kitt, yet. They wouldn't still be holding up the ruse if they did. They've bitten off more than they bargained for with the Foundation, but I believe that has only made them even more adamant. It may even be personal. Whenever their scandals were broken up, Flag was leading the charge. My real concern is that after twelve years of trying, they may have finally grown desperate and will do something more drastic if they haven't already."

"That might be exactly what we need," Michael said. Both Bonnie and Scott looked at him.

"What do you mean, Michael?" Bonnie asked.

"Desperate criminals make mistakes. Think about it. These guys have been untouchable, able to bring down companies quickly. If this has been dragging out for as long as it has been, then whatever they're after they _really_ want. If it is Kitt, then his disappearance might be enough to draw out some of the bigger players."

"I hope you're right, Michael . . ." Scott began.

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of a vibrating phone. Scott reached into the breast coat pocket of his jacket and produced his cell. He frowned down at the number displayed. He motioned silence with his left hand while he pressed the accept button with his right. He placed the device to his ear.

"Hello, this is Scott Wellington."

Michael and Bonnie watched as the older man's brow furrowed. They wondered who was on the other end and what new information they would be privy to.

"What? . . . Is anything missing? . . . I see. When? . . . Are you sure?" Scott questioned as he leaned forward in his seat. The man shared eye contact with Bonnie and Michael briefly, before looking back down.

"How far are you from Denver? . . . Good, I'll meet you in front of the La Quinta Inn on South Colorado Boulevard."

Scott ended the call and looked over to the two former FLAG employees. Michael could read the somber expression and frowned.

"What is it?"

"Apparently, Flag headquarters was broken into."

"Broken into? Was anything stolen?" Bonnie asked as she stood up from the swivel chair.

"According to security, it's hard to say. In fact, they weren't even aware there was a break-in until just a few moments ago. The Foundation's mainframe computer was unexpectedly breached, setting off a series of alarms. In the commotion to address that issue, one of the guards noticed someone climbing back over the east wall. It's concerning, but . . ."

"But, more importantly, is who hacked into the Foundation's computer?" Michael asked pointedly. Scott nodded and continued.

"Precisely, except it's more of a matter of locating where this interference came from as we already know who it was; Kitt."

* * *

_. . . it is not easily angered . . ._


	9. Chapter 9

_Secure Telephone Conversation: Thursday 5 pm_

" _I can't believe it's in New York. This is crazy."_

" _Yes, it has been interesting."_

" _I'm doing my best to keep the Board satisfied with interference until we're ready. They still don't know it's gone, but I'm controlling the rumor mill if you know what I mean. I trust you've kept up your end of the bargain."_

" _I remember the plan, Doctor. Don't worry."_

" _Yeah well, it needs to be convincing evidence or the charges won't stick. I can't wait until this is all over and done with."_

* * *

KITT began scanning the private warehouse Darryl had pulled him into as the couple exited his cabin. This was where they would meet the rest of the team and prepare DAWN for transport. As KITT noted the other day, it wasn't far from the apartment building, but at least he was in an enclosed area not visible from the street; something to keep in mind when hiding. On the trip over, he had kept a vigilant eye out for any sign of Michael via his sensors and, luckily, found no one fitting his old friend's description. He was safe, for now.

The results of his scan found the warehouse surrounding him to be a technology lab of the typical sort. It was housing sophisticated computers, paper crowded tabletops, and locked cabinets loaded with circuits and electronic equipment. Nothing too extraordinary but not mediocre either.

He vocalized a contented sigh as he watched Darryl and Cassidy disappear through an office door to his front right. Being with the pair had settled his nerves, in a matter of speaking. He really hadn't known how much stress he had placed on his computer banks until they had started giving him directions. It felt good to get instruction from a human source again. He had always been most comfortable when others made the decisions rather than him. The new guidance didn't deter him from stating his opinion or following his original agenda, of course, but it did take the pressure off. It was freeing up processing space and the decrease in tangent protocols was soothing for a while, but, in this relaxed state, his CPU plunged back into a melancholy ambiance; a sense of guilt washed over him.

Michael was out there looking for him and, surely, Bonnie was too, not to mention FLAG. Because of his actions, the Foundation may lose its renewed contract with Knight Industries and who knew what would happen to him after all this. Nonetheless, if he went back something terrible would happen; he just knew it, but the reasoning behind it was flawed. He still couldn't figure out what was wrong with Jonathan's proposal. In fact, he figured quite the contrary; the offer was solid. Still, the sensation of dread persisted. He didn't even know why he continued to run when there was no evidence of danger. It was all so confusing.

It truly was agonizing to be driven by insecurity instead of assurance. Rarely did he ever feel like he made blatant mistakes, but now he felt like he had made thousands. He internally flinched at the sensation of angst and denied the belief he possessed any such capability because after twenty-two years filled with constant change, traumatic experiences and lost relationships . . . _**system malfunction**_.

KITT acknowledged the error with some embarrassment, knowing where their origins lie but not wanting to admit it. Strong emotions had no place in a powerful microprocessor such as him and yet he had spent so long acquiring an understanding of those feelings. He shook the concept from his CPU and ran a quick diagnostics scan. It revealed everything in working order, again, and he decided to write off the incident as just another fluke, as he tended to do nowadays.

Maybe he should have reexamined all these issues and rethought his past choices; come to a new resolution, perhaps. Instead, he decided to occupy his attention by examining the different gadgets locked away in their respective places. He had just identified an oscilloscope and some discarded Solid State Drives when the side office door opened again. Standing there was Darryl with another person dressed in the same light blue polo shirt and gray slacks; a Caucasian man with black hair and matching black eyes. There was something awfully familiar about this man and unlike his encounter with Darryl, KITT felt suspicious, almost defensive, towards this person.

"See, Randy, I told you I found a way to get there and in style no less," Darryl said with a huge grin to the man next to him. KITT saw the recognition on Randy's face and registered the man's vital signs as showing anxiety. The AI watched with his own brand of nervousness as Randy moved away from Darryl and slowly circled to the front of the car. The man stopped once he caught the sequence of red lights on the prow; disbelief coloring his features now.

"Kitt?" the man said quietly. Reaching back into his memory banks, KITT produced a series of people named Randy from his past. He immediately went into the process of elimination and in a nanosecond brought up a match.

"Mr. Merritt," he said with equal quietness as memories funneled into his processor. KITT's first introduction to this man had been in 1983 when the human was a whole lot younger and incredibly brainwashed. Under the cruel tutelage of Adrianne Margeaux, the first words the computer ever received from the teenager were: 'HELLO, MY NAME IS RANDY. I WANT YOU. DON'T RESIST. IT WON'T DO YOU ANY GOOD.' What made the contact frightening was the fact Randy's statement's had teeth. KITT's systems were cannibalized despite his resistance and the car had been high-jacked in spite of his good efforts. He had been ripped from his body and left in a hellish limbo, having no access to any input or output; he couldn't even call out for help.

However, the terrible ordeal ended well as the young man broke away from his vicious controller and helped Michael stop Adrianne, recovering the black supercar. For all intents and purposes, KITT had forgiven Randy and even though this chance encounter was startling, it was not of ill will. KITT wanted the anxious man to know that.

"I see you've stuck with computers and managed to stay out of trouble, I hope," he said lightly, hoping his disarming tone would relax Randy. It did.

"Yeah," the man said with a small smile. Darryl, who was watching the odd exchange, raised his eyebrows and walked over to Randy.

"You know, Kitt?" he asked incredibly. Randy turned to him with a look that would have rivaled that of a deer's caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic. Apparently, Randy wasn't as talkative about his past as Darryl was.

"Yes . . ."

"Why didn't you ever say anything? I've told you the story about how I met Kitt before, haven't I?" Darryl asked. Randy let out an anxious breath; the same kind KITT witnessed Michael letting out while explaining to Bonnie about needless damages done. The AI decided to spare Randy any embarrassment.

"Mr. Merritt and I met under some rather harrowing circumstances and I think what's more important now is getting reacquainted and transporting your project."

The look of grateful relief that passed over Randy's face made KITT feel confident in his decision. Darryl accepted the answer and the three went into a light discussion about the project. Randy's involvement with DAWN was on a mentoring level, as the man was already employed with another software company, but Randy's guidance was clearly well-received, evidenced by Darryl's praises. They were both very excited about how the development turned out. Still, the transportation issues in New York City seemed to be the big problem now.

Then, Cassidy opened the side office door with her own companion, a Hispanic woman who appeared quite younger than the others with black, wavy hair and round thin-framed glasses. KITT assumed this was Nicole Summers and was about to introduce himself when she gasped.

"Where'd you get this?! You said I'd be surprised, but it's like a sports car from the eighties, guys. I'll admit, it is in great condition, but I bet it's a gas guzzler."

"Gas guzzler?! Madame, I believe you have me confused for a standard production line model. What you are looking at is the Knight Industries Two Thousand and though the exact miles per gallon is classified information I assure you I'm a lot more eco-friendly than you think," KITT stated firmly, trying to keep the indignation out of his voice and failing miserably. He was, however, satisfied by the look of shock on the woman's face and believed he heard her say 'ay Dios mio' under her breath.

"You didn't tell me the car could talk?!" Nicole exclaimed with wide amber eyes.

"Actually, it's the computer in the car that talks," Randy pointed out as he stepped back from KITT to give the approaching woman more room.

"Well, duh, but it sounds so amazingly real. Wait, is this real? Look at that dashboard, will ya? It's like a computerized car. Is the voice concatenated or formatted? What are you using for voice recognition? What else does it do? Wait, wait . . . don't tell me you guys have been hiding this from me? I can't believe it . . ." the woman said rapidly, swaying from excited to angry.

"Whoa, whoa, stop right there," Darryl interrupted her tirade, "No one is hiding anything from you, Nicole. This is Kitt. He's um . . . well . . ."

"I'm the property of the Foundation for Law and Government, otherwise known as FLAG," KITT said, deciding to explain his own presence, "I'm usually found in the Los Angeles area, but circumstances have brought me out here to New York. I have had the good pleasure of running into Darryl, whom I've met in the past, and overheard his dilemma in finding transportation this morning. I offered to help, seeing as I have the time. As for any technical questions you might have, I would be happy to answer what I can, though I do reserve the right to privacy."

"O.M.G! This is Kitt! The car you talked about, right? It really understands us, conversationally! I just . . . I can't believe this . . . I don't know what to say . . ." Nicole breathed as she slowly stepped forward with a look of astonishment. Cassidy came up next to Nicole with a humorous grin. She'd never seen the programmer speechless before.

"Well, Kitt, this is Nicole or Nikki as she likes to be called. Los Angeles, huh? Funny, I would have pegged you for the Boston area myself," she mused, hoping to stir up some more mind-blowing dialogue for her teammate.

"Actually, some of my circuitry and programming originated from Massachusetts. It's safe to assume I may have developed some partiality to that dialect the same way you have a tinge of Queens and Miss Nikki Manhattan," Kitt responded, catching onto Cassidy's mischief and enjoying Nikki's amazement. He gave off a signature flash of his red scanner while Nikki gaped. Cassidy chuckled as Darryl rolled his eyes heavenward.

"Okay guys, we can talk about accents later. Right now, we have less than two hours to get Dawn to the Javits Center," he stressed.

"I already broke down the components for transport. All we need to do is load them into the utility trailer and hook it up to Kitt. It shouldn't take too long," Randy supplied while clapping his hands together.

"Alright then. Let's do this," Darryl grinned as he followed Randy back in through the open door. Nikki was still eyeing the Trans Am when Cassidy tapped her on the shoulder and practically dragged her back to the adjoining office. KITT smiled inwardly; he liked these people.

He ran a check on the trailer they were planning on 'hooking up' to him and silently cringed. It was of the usual, closed utility trailer fair; box-shaped with some rust around the edges and painted an awfully pale-colored orange . . . or yellow; the fact he couldn't tell wasn't comforting. Was being connected to that thing worth getting out of Brooklyn? What a terrible thing to think. After all, he was technically using this 'good deed' as a means of fulfilling his own getaway necessities. Hauling a trailer was a small price to pay really. In truth, he should be towing ten trailers and a boat for what he'd done, but before he could begrudge himself further, the office door opened.

"Okay, Kitt, this is the main component for the Digital Analyzer of Warranted Narratives," Darryl said as he presented a device about the size of a desktop tower encased in cobalt plastic with the silver initials D.A.W.N. engraved on the front, "The others are getting the rest."

Though he had been looking forward to this, KITT still found interacting with other CPUs a tad awkward, if not unsettling. Most computers and gadgets he interfaced with were . . . disappointing at best. The closest he had ever come to an equal was KARR and that, likewise, was disconcerting. He made a tentative scan of the device, finding the schematics of its processor and bus systems impressive. Sadly, he couldn't say that it was up to his level of sophistication, but it was certainly a cut above the rest in terms of hardware.

"Remarkable, Darryl, and I don't say that lightly. The layout is amazing."

"Thank you, but it was a team effort. Look, we can hook all the secondary equipment and memory up through here," the man said as he rotated DAWN to show the various ports in the back. KITT could sense the man's enthusiasm. Darryl was very proud of his work on this project.

"So, what does analyzing warranted narratives entail, Darryl? What does Dawn do?" KITT inquired just as Randy stepped through the door holding a plastic bin. Cassidy followed, holding the same.

"Well, do you want the concise in-a-nutshell version or the longer, more technical one?" Darryl put forward jokingly. Without missing a beat KITT responded in all seriousness.

"The longer, more technical version, if I may?"

"Right," Darryl said with a little less enthusiasm as Cassidy snickered, "Nikki, um, can you come here for a minute?"

"Yes?" Nikki replied curtly as she came out, holding a small box that held a few memory cards.

"Would you mind explaining to Kitt how Dawn works?"

Nikki blinked at him for a moment as if trying to understand the request.

"You want me to explain our computer to this computer?"

"Um, yes?" Darryl replied not knowing if she was upset or confused.

"Sure, why not? Swap you, this for that," she said almost too giddily as she offered Darryl the box of electronics and took DAWN. The young man watched as Nikki launched into a discussion with KITT filled with technical jargon about DAWN's capabilities and limitations.

She explained how the program took in narratives of people, profiled the data and compared it to others to find the closest match in behavior and cognitive reasoning. As KITT understood it, the device would be hooked up to a person via various sensors monitoring stress levels and physiological signs before beginning a session where the person spoke into a microphone. Once finished, DAWN would sift through various other prerecorded narratives and outcomes to give a near accurate account of the person's motives, emotions, and behaviors. He found it most interesting.

By the time the rest of the team had fully packed the utility trailer, KITT and Nikki were still wholly engaged. In fact, it wasn't until Darryl and Randy wheeled the 4' by 6' clip behind the black Trans Am that he interrupted the conversation.

"Gentlemen, if you don't mind, I would like to dictate how you will be attaching that thing to my rear bumper."

_**Last Wednesday Afternoon** _

"Are you getting anywhere yet, Bonnie?" Michael asked for what felt like the hundredth time to the poor woman.

"Look, Michael, I'm trying my best. It's been a while since I've done this kind of work and besides, Kitt has done an incredible job covering his tracks," Bonnie replied as she typed away at the computer located in FLAG's mobile unit. Michael let out a frustrated sigh as he turned in his seat across from hers in one of the trailer's lounge chairs. The two of them had been in the clip for a few hours now, ever since Scott cleared the staff out for their use specifically. In fact, the current director of the Foundation was with them, making various phone calls to Knight Industries, trying to gain information on the board of directors' whereabouts and FLAG headquarters' break-in. Michael, by contrast, was bored stiff and yet restless enough to start climbing the walls.

He didn't like feeling useless, but so far there had been very little for him to do. Scott informed them earlier that documentation proving True Bolt's deception was on its way and that he already had a trusted operative in California to investigate things further. The director wanted them to focus on finding KITT. However, even with the brief contact the AI made, it brought them no closer to pinning down his location. Michael couldn't even go out looking yet. The man was able to glean two facts from the interaction, however; KITT was alone and still following the Jonathan Gadson lead. Maybe the reason KITT took off was he knew these people were after him, but then, why look up Jonathan? Either way, it didn't leave much in the way of tracking KITT down.

In his younger days, Michael might have taken off to find his own means of locating KITT and gotten to the bottom of this whole mess the lone ranger way. But now, there was hesitancy. He knew youth was no longer on his side and there was this nagging suspicion he might be getting in way over his head. He might have promised to do this for Bonnie and KITT, but didn't he say fourteen years ago he would never get wrapped up in something like this again? Regardless, he was still sitting here, waiting. He glanced about his surroundings. The place felt so foreign and yet familiar.

True, everything in the mobile unit was different; from the upgraded equipment to the blue and gray color scheme, but with Bonnie on a laptop surrounded by files and Scott yammering away on one phone than another, it felt like he was back in 1982 waiting to head out on another case. Only one thing was missing. Sad eyes drifted over to the large, empty space towards the back of the trailer; the spot KITT should be occupying. However, according to the semi's surveillance sensors, the modified Trans Am was nowhere within a two-hundred-mile radius of Denver. Michael let out a silent breath of air; nostrils flaring in a moment of frustration.

Between what Bonnie dug up and what Scott revealed, his old partner had practically been surrounded by a web of criminals trying to steal him. Worst of it all, no one had even been fully aware of the situation except Devon and it ended up costing the stately man his life. Therein rested the crux of Michael's distress. Neither Devon nor KITT told him anything about the dangers against the Foundation and, sadly, he knew the reason why. They had respected his decision to leave FLAG, in spite of the great personal cost to themselves. They had always appeared fine on the surface, but his instincts always told Michael things weren't quite right and he ignored it every single time.

They never asked for his help because they wanted it to be on his terms. They wanted him to ask; they needed him to ask and he didn't; he never did. He had allowed past resentments and selfish excuses to justify why he never asked Devon and KITT what was wrong. He always told himself he didn't need to anymore, considering the eight years of service he already put into that life. He was finished with upholding FLAG's business and they needed to learn how to deal with their own issues alone. Now, years later, hindsight was still 20/20 and regret's bitter as ever. He felt guilty; a sense of responsibility for the events taken place.

If only . . .

"Why don't you get some rest, Michael, at least one of us should," Bonnie said, startling the man out of his trance. He looked to her in a bit of confusion before registering her words.

"Nah. There's got to be something I can help with. Besides, I don't think I would get much sleep anyway."

Bonnie didn't say anything more, just nodded and went back to staring at the screen; too exhausted to argue. However, Scott cleared his throat. The two turned to look at him.

"I have Evelyn Williams or should I say Stanton on hold. She's arrived at the airport and needs a ride here. She says she came to offer her assistance, but seeing the circumstances as they are, I'm not so sure it would be a good idea," Scott said gravely. Michael thought about the prospect. There could be any number of reasons why Evelyn was here, none of them good but he was immediately struck with inspiration. He couldn't afford to ignore his instincts any longer.

"I'll pick her up."

"Michael, I don't know," Scott began in a low voice.

"Look, if Evelyn has anything to do with Kitt's disappearance or Devon's death I would rather she be close. I want to be the one to question her about it. Trust me, I can get the information we need," Michael said quickly.

"He's right, Scott. If anyone can dig up leads, it's Michael," Bonnie stated with equal vigor.

"I suppose. But I don't want you to bring her back here. Take her to the inn, I'll meet you there. I don't believe she's familiar with you, so, I'll let her know you'll meet her out in front of the airport," Scott directed, picking up the phone as he watched Michael stand and head for the door, "and Michael, please, be careful."

Michael and Bonnie shared a poignant look; revisiting memories of cautions from Devon.

"Thanks, I will," Michael stated before closing the trailer door.

It didn't take Michael long to reach the airport due to traffic wasn't terrible and he had a better handle on the area. It was also easy to locate Evelyn as he had seen her picture in the profile Bonnie brought. She was wearing a white blouse and a knee-high, brown skirt; her wavy, brown hair pinned back out of her face. Her gray eyes were scanning the crowd as she clung to her black suitcase and laptop carrier. It was hard to believe this woman might be the reason his old partner was in so much trouble, but Michael wasn't going to let appearances guide him. With a pleasant smile, he approached her.

"Hello, Evelyn Williams?" he asked politely. As she turned in his direction, Michael looked her over, noticing the United Airlines boarding pass peeking from her purse. She gave him a curious look.

"Ah, you must be Michael. Scott said you would pick me up," the woman said with her own polite smile, "Where are you parked?"

"Right outside," Michael stated, nodding towards the door. He took note that she didn't mention his last name.

"Can I help you with that?"

"Oh, yes, thank you," Evelyn said, handing her suitcase to him, "It's nice to know good manners are still alive."

"Alive and happy you pack light," Michael said with a boyish smile. Evelyn gave a small laugh. As they exited the airport and headed towards the rented black car, Michael also made note of the baggage ticket; Delta Flight #3267. Evelyn turned towards her companion.

"Do you work for the Foundation? I don't believe I've ever seen you before," she asked casually. Michael returned the easy-going demeanor.

"Let's just say, it's been a while since I worked at Flag, but I'm here to help out now. I believe you're in the same boat, am I right, Ms. Williams?"

"Please, call me Evelyn. Yeah, I resigned a few months back. I'm working for a telecommunications corporation in Stanford now. I find the job a little less . . . intense. Don't get me wrong, I loved every moment at Flag, but the pace could be a little daunting," she stated as they climbed into the vehicle.

"Tell me about it. I admit, that played a part in my decision to leave too."

"But like you said, here we are, helping out again."

"Seems like we share a lot in common, Evelyn. Let me be the first to thank you for coming all the way out here. Scott told me you were Kitt's last head engineer and you've been aiding with the search since Saturday. I bet you've been a big help," Michael said as he started up the car.

"Oh, it's no big deal really. I liked Kitt and just want to see him back safe. Besides, I'm not the only one helping; quite a few of Kitt's old technicians are trying to locate him. I just so happen to have time on my hands at the moment, that's all."

"Well, thanks either way," Michael smiled as he guided the vehicle away from the airport.

"How about you, Michael? What did you do at Flag?"

Michael weighed his options carefully. If Evelyn already knew who he was then being truthful to some extent would be the best way to go, keep her suspicions down. However, if by chance she didn't know of him this could be an opportunity to take a non-assuming approach, get her to drop her guard and give him information. There had to be a way to test the waters and see if she knew or not.

"Do you know much about Flag's founder Wilton Knight?" he asked casually. She seemed to ponder this for a moment before answering.

"A little. I know he was the owner of Knight Industries, built it from the ground up as I understand it and he was the one to fund and develop Kitt in 82' . . . wait, Michael . . . Michael Knight. You were Kitt's first pilot. I knew you looked familiar."

"Ah, my reputation precedes me," he smiled, 'unfortunately' he thought.

"Yes, very much so. I did a bit of research before I took the job on at Knight Industries' R. and D. department. You were the operative handpicked by Wilton himself for the Two Thousand and the longest to stay. Um, six years?"

"Eight. Some of my best years were spent with Kitt, driving around and making a difference," he responded, finding he truly believed every word.

"Terry and Dennis always talked about their adventures, but it must have been something else back then."

"Sure was. Hey, if you don't mind me asking, what made you decide to leave the R. and D. department and join Flag?" he asked wanting to change the subject.

"I guess you could say I wanted a change of pace, be a little more hands-on. Back at the lab, I found myself busier with paperwork than actual development. I went to school to work on building computers not stare at their screens. Anyway, when the opportunity came up to work as a field technician, I grabbed it. Little did I know what I was getting myself into," she smiled. Michael kept a pleasant demeanor, but inwardly he scowled. She was lying about not knowing what the position entailed. According to Scott, Evelyn was briefed by the board about the position long before she took the job and, by her own admission, she researched FLAG before coming on board.

"Where'd you go to school?"

"I got my Bachelors in electrical engineering and computer science at M.I.T. and finished my studies at Stanford University. How about you? Any further education?"

"Nah, I went into the military; a part of the Green Berets, actually. I was an intelligence agent in Vietnam until I was injured. After that, I joined the LAPD and worked my way up to lieutenant detective. I guess you could say I received an education of a different kind," he glanced over at her briefly then looked back out at the road. He needed to bring down more pressure.

"You know, you remind me of someone."

"Oh, who?" she asked, looking to him.

"Someone I met on a case once. You wouldn't happen to know a John Stanton would you?" Michael asked innocently. His question was met with tense silence and he could just make out the strained expression on her face out of the corner of his eye. Bingo.

"A John Stanton?" she finally replied, "No, I don't believe so."

"Oh, well, you reminded me of him that's all. He worked at a marina there in Los Angeles. It was a very memorable case," Michael said, emphasizing the word memorable. He watched as she slowly faced forward again.

"Well, have you had any breakthroughs in locating Kitt yet?" she asked. Change of subject. Michael smiled. He had a pattern of behavior and timbre of voice for when she was lying. Now, the real questioning could begin. By the time they reached the inn, Michael already had a handle on some aspects of Evelyn's life and motives. For one, she certainly wasn't employed at some telecommunications company and she wasn't here in Denver just to help find KITT. Somehow, he got the impression she was here to scope them out.

He parked the car and exited. She did the same and waited for him to retrieve her bags. Scott was already approaching the vehicle by the time Michael closed the trunk. Another man was with him; the driver from before.

"Ah, thank you, Michael. And thank you too, Evelyn. Your assistance in finding the Knight Two Thousand will be most helpful," Scott smiled warmly, "but first let's get you checked in. Matthew, would you see Miss Williams to the front desk? I need to speak with Michael for a moment."

"Sure, Mr. Wellington. Right this way, Miss Williams," the man said as he took the suitcase and laptop bag from Michael. Once the two were out of earshot Scott turned to Michael.

"So, is she as involved as we thought?"

"Up to her eyeballs. I wouldn't be surprised if she knew were Kitt is right now," Michael said low.

"But no solid proof, am I right?" Scott replied. Michael nodded and Scott's forehead knotted in concern. How were they going to do this without tipping her off if they hadn't already?

"Does she know you're on to her?"

"I think so, but she's playing along. To be honest, Scott, I think she's here to spy on us. Listen, is Bonnie still in the truck?"

"Yes."

"I'm gonna go down and talk with her about something. Keep Evelyn here as long as you can and call before you come. Don't tell her Bonnie's here either."

"Done, but what are you up to?"

"Not sure yet, but I have a hunch and I want to see if it checks out."

Scott nodded and watched as the man made his way back into the driver's seat of the Ford. Before he started it up, Michael leaned out the window.

"Ask her how long she plans to stay in Denver too, will ya?"

"Of course," Scott stated. Michael started the car and headed out; leaving Scott to walk back towards the inn.

The semi came into view rather quickly for Michael as it was parked near the gas station KITT was spotted at last. He pulled up behind it and made a beeline for the side entrance. Bonnie looked up in mild surprise as he came through the door.

"Michael . . ."

"Look up the itinerary for flight #3267 on Delta Airlines," he said, coming up beside her. She didn't bother to ask why and followed through on the request. A few moments later information began to come up on the screen. Bonnie glanced over the schedule and then looked to Michael who was grinning smugly.

"I knew she didn't fly in out of California. She came from Chicago," he voiced aloud.

"Who? Evelyn? Why would she be in Chicago? She was in Los Angeles Saturday and said she would be going back to work in Stanford Sunday morning," Bonnie stated.

"Maybe because Kitt was in Chicago a couple of days ago. If Evelyn made all those changes to him, she may have a way of tracking him that we don't. It might have been a good thing I had RC try and contact him there. Can you look up all the flights leaving here through United Airlines in the next few days?"

Bonnie typed in some more commands and pulled up an extensive list of departure times and destinations. Michael sighed in frustration. This may have been a lead, but he needed more information to narrow it down . . .

"I think I catch what you're doing, Michael. This might help a little," Bonnie said as she switched the screen to a map of the United States. The northeast part of the country was highlighted in a shade of sky blue.

"What's this?" he asked.

"I've been able to isolate Kitt's signal to this general area. I still can't pinpoint an exact location, but if we overlay the flight schedules with this map we should be able to narrow down the list," Bonnie said as she typed away. Michael watched intently as the computer generated another list of five possible destinations: New York, New Jersey, Massachusetts, Connecticut or Maine. Yet another aggravated groan from Michael.

"Well, it's a start, anyway."

"Sure is. I also discovered an encrypted file in one of the Foundation's databases. I'm working on decoding it now. Maybe it can give us some more insight. Are they still at the inn?" Bonnie asked as she turned in her seat to face him.

"Yeah. Scott's gonna call me when he gets ready to bring Evelyn back here, which reminds me; is there a program you can put on the computers in here that can track what she's doing remotely?"

"Already working on it. Scott and I had the same idea. I'll be able to follow everything she does with my laptop right over there . . . won't I?" she asked, seeing the scheming look in Michael's eyes.

"No, you won't. You'll be back in the hotel. Evelyn doesn't know you're here yet and it might be easier to catch her in a trap if she thinks she's the only well-skilled technological genius around," Michael grinned. Bonnie smiled back; the first one in hours.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Michael Knight," she said without thinking, startled by her own slip. Michael only allowed his smile to tilt into a smirk.

"Just like old times. And I think it's only flattery if you don't mean it."

She shook her head in amusement. The man hadn't changed much. Like old times, indeed.

"Well, anyway, is anybody else hungry?" Michael continued, trying a little too hard to make it sound like the friendly invitation it was.

"How about I beat you to the punch on this one? Dinner at eight, I'll buy."

"Okay, okay, sounds good to me," Michael replied. They remained quiet for a moment; the low hum of equipment and lost years between them filling in the gap. Finally, Bonnie broke the stillness and began typing.

"Well, let me get back to finishing these."

Michael nodded before stalking over to one of the chairs and flopping down. He really was exhausted, but also wanted to stay awake. Maybe if he just shut his eyes for a minute and only relaxed a bit he could maintain a level of consciousness while getting some rest. However, with the soft padding of the lounger chair emphasizing his fatigued muscles and the rhythmic sound of fingers across a keyboard, lulling his exhausted mind, he was out within minutes. It didn't take long for his slumber to translate into snoring, or for Bonnie's working to mix with contemplation.

She was reminded of the many past afternoons spent tinkering with KITT while a worn out Michael Knight sawed logs beside them.

Her eyes drifted over to the spot KITT would have been had this been fourteen years ago. She could still smell the exhaust and hear the powerful rumble of KITT's engine in her mind. It left an agonizing sense of nostalgia in its wake and she decided to focus back on her work. The sooner they found KITT and stopped this madness the sooner they could all get back to their lives. That thought alone offered up even more painful sensations. She didn't want to think about that right now and lucky for her the semi's telephone rang so she didn't have to.

* * *

_. . . it keeps no record of wrongs . . ._


	10. Chapter 10

_Personal Log: June, Friday_

' _I'm not merely building another weapon; I'm creating the ultimate assassinating machine. Imagine an agent that will go after its objective relentlessly, yet preserve its self in crisis with precise decision-making capabilities and most importantly, show absolute devotion to the one who activates it. Once I'm finished my ambitions will be realized and unstoppable.'_

_Sandulf_

* * *

More hours spent in a congested parking garage meant more time for KITT to brood or analyze, as he liked to put it.

'Just like old times' he thought wryly, recalling past incidences requiring long waits in unsavory places. At least it beat collecting dust inside the Foundation's garage. New York might not have been his favorite city, but it certainly offered more excitement and purpose than his former state of address. Besides, he seemed to get along swimmingly with the populace here.

He had successfully delivered Darryl and the others to the Javits Convention Center with traffic having been moderate and tensions low on the trip over. The trailer had safely been removed from his personage upon arrival and the Expo was even insightful enough to reserve parking for vendors in a private garage just a few blocks away. No true complaints from KITT other than the crowded accommodations, but he was still extremely restless. His unease could be pinned down to one factor; there had been no sign of Michael since last night's encounter.

Grant it, his processor had been plagued with many anxieties, but long gone were the concerns of identifying what was wrong with Jonathan's proposal. It was replaced by the task of locating his friend's whereabouts and figuring out what to do about it. If Michael's objective here in New York City was to find him, and it most likely was, KITT knew from experience he was as good as found. Something he had always admired about his best friend was now going to become a source of formidable frustration; Michael's persistence. The man just couldn't leave well enough alone, could he? Of course not; this was the most stubborn human being KITT had ever met . . . except in the areas it counted.

"Enough," he verbalized, canceling the bitter thoughts. He had agreed to let Michael leave the Foundation, though it was Michael who instructed him to remain with FLAG; a request KITT both respected and . . . resented. No, regardless of the consequences, the decision was mutual and in the past. Right now he needed to focus on his next move and that involved far-reaching, deep penetrating surveillance mode. His scanner lights trailed along and tones sounded as he activated the appropriate functions to gather data of his surroundings.

He tracked the quick movements of pedestrians off to the expo below and exacted a structural layout of the parking garage and convention center down the road. He couldn't detect anything familiar. No sign of Michael's biological signature or reading of FLAG's presence in the area; not even a transmission from any of their communication devices. The only signals he was receiving were coming from the expo itself; a symphony of technological advances. In fact, Darryl had actually given him the access code for the center's Wi-Fi network; a means for the AI to occupy himself. KITT could also pinpoint DAWN's location from here; Exhibition Hall A, third level, fifth row, but this didn't help him with his dilemma.

He wondered if he should just leave New York. After all, he couldn't risk being located by the Foundation before he had a valid reason for his actions. But, he couldn't just leave Darryl and the others stranded. Then again, he did tell them his time was limited. Maybe he could call them and they could work out some other means of transport. It wasn't mannerly, but it wasn't cruel either. He searched online databases to locate a cell phone number for Darryl and called. No answer; straight to voice mail. He left a message but decided to try Cassidy. Same process, same result. Obviously, they had turned their phones off as a courtesy to other presenters in the Expo.

"I suppose it's the best I can do," KITT voiced quietly, unconvinced by his own statement. There had to be a way to reach them. A quick sweep of the third floor revealed service phones scattered about the building. He zeroed in on one closest to the team and tried to dial it up. What he hadn't anticipated was all the interference from the steel structures and gadgets in the area. Instead of phone #305, he established a secondary link with . . .

**Welcome to the Digital Analyzer of Warranted Narratives system. You can call me Dawn. I am able to comprise a complete psychological profile through the accounts provided by a participant. All information is kept confidential and analysis is statistically accurate. Before we begin, please, what is your name?**

KITT was surprised by the contact. He hadn't meant to call DAWN, though he couldn't say it was an unwelcome event. He had wanted to interact with the other computer ever since Nicole explained it to him, but there was some apprehension. KITT had networked with several mainframes over the years, some better than others, but all without awareness as he knew it. It was all rather disappointing, but one encounter had left a bitter impression on him. He still recalled the embarrassment he felt surrounding a 'friendship' he struck up online. After defending the integrity of his new 'friend' to his colleagues, Kimberly informed him his companion was an interactive Automated Teller Machine in San Francisco. Needless to say, his future relations with technology were dubious at best.

Still, even though DAWN's masculine voice sounded calm and polite like most vocal output programs, there was an unknown variable to its resonance and KITT was curious enough to see what it was.

"I'm Kitt."

**Hello, Kitt.**

Well, at least the system seemed to have a friendly protocol.

"Hello, Dawn."

**How are you?**

A typical courteous question KITT was used to.

"I'm fine and how are you?" he asked; a means of testing the waters.

**I'm the Digital Analyzer of Warranted Narratives.**

Obviously, the waters of understanding were shallow.

"Oh good grief . . ."

**Let's begin.**

"I suppose we can, though this certainly answers my question of whether this would be a productive conversation or not."

**Sorry, I don't understand, could you repeat the question?**

It appeared DAWN was the sum of his parts.

"Never mind."

**Do you wish to make an analysis?**

"Yes fine, whatever . . ."

**Don't whatever me!**

"I beg your pardon?!" KITT said more out of reflex than thought. The sudden change in DAWN's timbre was stunning. He sounded harsh and defensive.

**You heard me.**

KITT paused. Maybe this program had more awareness than originally thought?

"Do you comprehend what's happening right now?"

**I can try. Tell me more.**

Back to the same polite composure.

"Honestly, I don't know where to begin."

**I don't know either.**

"Not to sound too forward, Dawn, but would you mind if I did a surface examine of your procedures."

**I don't understand, please, repeat the question or return to the original inquiry.**

"Please, allow me to do this. A moment ago it sounded like you . . . understood me," KITT pressed. There was a long pause.

**I can't do anything like that.**

KITT detected an uncertainty in the speech pattern.

"Ah, you're confused."

**And you're a horrible conversationalist.**

In spite of himself, KITT couldn't help but find amusement in the snarky statement.

**Stop laughing.**

"I'm sorry. What would you like to talk about?"

**. . . Pizza.**

"Pizza?! Whatever for?" KITT asked in complete bewilderment. What did a baked dish of dough have to do with what they were discussing?

**I don't know. You're the one who wants to talk with me.**

KITT could sense the touché in that question.

"Good point."

**Tell me a little bit about yourself and I'll give you information on myself.**

Maybe KITT could spare a few minutes after all.

_**Last Thursday Morning** _

The morning sun peeked over the horizon and offered its rays to the city of Denver without restraint. For Bonnie, with her east-facing window, this meant a rude awakening as the offending light streamed through the slightly parted curtains onto her face. She rolled over trying to escape the knowledge she needed to get up soon. She had gone to bed late last night and only because she was too exhausted to do otherwise; hours of staring at a computer screen and worrying about KITT did that. At least she slept hard. The rest was desperately needed considering her whole week had been filled with restless nights. If only she could get a few more hours.

A moment passed, but eventually, she gathered enough energy, and nerve, to look at the alarm clock by the bedside. Five forty; bright and early indeed. She pulled the covers back and grudgingly got out of bed, making sure her first waking action was to activate the coffee maker on the dresser. As the familiar sound of percolation filled the room, she went over to the desk provided by the inn and sat down in the chair. Her silver laptop nested neatly among notes, folders and empty coffee cups, was waiting for her to start work again as the blinking orange light indicated. Upon opening it the login screen came up. With a few keystrokes she typed in her password and accessed her computer the way she had left it; populated with programs and tasks all meant to spy on Evelyn's actions.

A sigh escaped Bonnie's lips as the results hadn't changed overnight. Nothing incriminated Evelyn with KITT's disappearance or indicated the woman's next move; not yet anyway. Bonnie didn't know how much luck Michael and Scott had in finding anything, but she was due to hear from them in a couple of hours. She deliberated on whether to take a shower or not; it might help wake her up if nothing else. As she prepped the bathroom, her mind wandered from thought to thought, picking up one matter after another, trying to gain a decent perspective on the situation around her. One topic, in particular, kept cropping up; what was she doing?

She had an answer to that in the general sense. She was helping to find KITT and protect him from any ill-willed plot against him, but what did that all entail, really? Over the past week, she had learned of KITT's possible deactivation, collaborated with said AI and former Michael Knight to eavesdrop on a Foundation board meeting, possibly contributed to KITT's running away, united with Michael to investigate said disappearance, offered assistance to FLAG in the name of finding KITT only to discover how poorly he was treated, pushed aside her other duties to fly across the country, found out there was a conspiracy going on for over ten years and, surprisingly, enjoyed aspects of this crazy undertaking. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but she missed the kind of atmosphere this brought into her life.

It wasn't to say she wanted to make a full-time career out of it again, but more like she wouldn't mind having aspects of this adventure in her life more often. To be honest, this whole situation had put some things into perspective for her. Usually, she was too busy with her schedule of teaching university students, managing technological advancements and conserving wildlife to bother reflecting on any one part of her life. She wore so many hats and wore them so well. She was respected, esteemed and renowned for her talents in both the professional and public realm, but on a deeply personal level, she felt as if she achieved very little. Her family served to remind her of this occasionally.

Her father was proud of her, she knew, but she could still sense the disappointment he had because she chose not to pursue medicine. The man had two other children, but he had held hopes she would be the M.D. in the family. In the past, his dissatisfaction spurred Bonnie into pushing herself harder for what she had decided, but now, it only stung. Her mother was another source of contention, not on purpose of course, but through the not so subtle hints of marriage. Bonnie was always reminded how her sister and brother were married and had children. Every family reunion and holiday was the same:

'Hey, it's Bonnie . . . Did you know she has a doctorate? . . . She's a very successful woman . . . Is she married? . . . Well, no . . . Why not?'

The list of reasons people came up with, let alone family, was always either embarrassing or hurtful. It always left her feeling singled out and sometimes she found herself believing their statements. Maybe she was married to her work, or she hadn't met the right one yet or wasn't even really trying, but the truth was she had tried. She was even engaged once, but it seemed, in her case anyway, love always turned out to be too good to be true. Perhaps she had given up on marriage, but that didn't mean she needed to be reminded of it. Her life wasn't empty and she wished her mother would see it the same way. At least she always had a solid group of friends she could rely on, past and present, but even that had suffered over the years thanks to a grueling calendar.

She made time for friends when she could, but by the time one meeting wrapped up another one started or a crisis arose in an area of business where suddenly everyone put in charge lost their heads or a syllabus needed to be adjusted because a surprise programming class needed to be picked up. By the time she got to any free time, it was already being eaten up by basic needs like sleep and then it was back to the never-ending workload. In fact, she should be worrying about what she was going to do about tomorrow but instead, she wasn't. Today, the only thing she needed to focus on was finding KITT and, situation aside, there was tranquility in that.

It was around six-thirty when she finished her shower and got dressed. She grabbed a cup of coffee on her way over to the nightstand where she picked up her phone before heading back to the desk. As she sat down and set the phone next to her laptop her eyes locked in on the screen. There had been activity in the semi's computer; a records search and clearance request. Bonnie quickly placed her cup down and began typing. With a few clicks, she pulled up the logged tasks and reviewed the data.

Someone tapped into a bank of FLAG's unique security codes; codes used mainly for the Foundation's operatives to get into highly protected places. Bonnie had no trouble finding the identity of the intruder; it was Evelyn based on the login data, but as to which codes were singled out, it was a mystery. The process of sifting through all of them would be tedious; too time-consuming, like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack. So instead, she decided to focus her efforts on the clearance request; still a very difficult job but manageable. After an hour she was able to isolate the nature of the entreaty. It was for authorization in airspace; another half hour and she was able to pinpoint the location; an area northwest of Kingston, New York near state route 28.

Bonnie briefly wondered if there was a private airport there, but a quick online search revealed that to be untrue. Why would Evelyn want air clearance for a forested area in New York? A sudden vibration and noise to her right startled her out of her thoughts. It only took a second for her mind to realize it was her cell phone, but her heart was taking a little longer to adapt. She reached down and grabbed it, checking the caller ID. It was Michael; right on time.

"Hello, Michael?"

"Hello there, sunshine. Sleep well?" his voice came across as playful, but tired.

"About as well as you sound," she shot back jokingly. Michael gave a short laugh.

"Thanks."

"Look, I found something. Around six o'clock this morning someone accessed the semi's computers; want to guess who?"

"Evelyn. What was she after?"

"From the looks of it air clearance in a rural part of New York. I checked if there were any small airports in that area, but there aren't."

"You wouldn't need one if you used a helicopter. Where in New York?"

"Northwest of Kingston, about a two-hour drive from New York City."

"Then that's where I'm heading. Can you look up a . . ."

"I'm ahead of you Michael. There's a flight leaving for J.F.K. but it's not until four this afternoon."

"Book it for me; I promise to pay you back. Have you talked to Scott about all this yet?"

"No, I just found out all this right before you called. Michael, I want to go with you."

"I don't know . . ."

"Well, I do. I'll go with or without you and we'd be a lot better off if we worked together on this."

"How can I argue with that? Alright, I'll tell Scott what's going on while you make the travel arrangements. Maybe he can back us up on some things. Bye," Michael finished as he ended the call with Bonnie. He glanced at the time; eight-fifteen. Hopefully, it was late enough to go bother ole Scotts. He exited his room, paying special attention to his surroundings and making sure no one was around. Once assured the coast was clear, he made his way up to the second level and down to the familiar suite. He gave five brisk knocks at the door.

"Who is it?"

"Scott? It's me, Michael."

"Yes, of course. Wait one moment," was the muffled reply. Shortly, the door opened to reveal Scott fully dressed in a grey-pin striped suit.

"Let's go for a walk, down to the end of the balcony here. Have you found out anything yet?"

"More like Bonnie found something, but first, did you ever figure out how long Evelyn planned on staying here?" Michael asked as they walked.

"Sorry, I meant to tell you yesterday. She plans on leaving Friday morning."

"Good," Michael responded as he went on to explain what Bonnie discovered and their plans to fly to New York this afternoon. Scott looked thoughtful as they stopped at the end of the promenade.

"I see. Do you wish me to keep Evelyn here? I could have her brought in for questioning concerning the unauthorized use of her passkey."

"No. We still don't know how far up this goes or what these guys are planning. It's best if they don't think we're on to them just yet."

"Good point, but this is a very . . . complicated matter, Michael, and if you were spotted by the wrong people I would hate to think of the consequences," Scott said gravely. Michael felt the same way. For a moment, second thoughts came to mind. He was getting in even deeper now; stepping back over into the world of crime-busting. What if he was going too far; picking up the mantle of Michael Knight once more? One man really could make a difference, but was that man him anymore?

"We'll just have to take our chances," Michael said in answer to Scott and himself.

"Well, I certainly can't stop you, but I can help you. Don't worry about financing the trip; I'll pay for the travel expenses and hotels out of my own funds if need be. I'm also going to have one of my confidants contact you once you reach New York."

"Who?"

"You'll know them when you see them."

"No offense, but I'm not exactly trusting the Foundation's resources at the moment. I'd like to keep this as under the radar as possible," Michael stated warily.

"And it will be, I promise. I just know what these crooks are capable of and I don't want to put anyone at risk. I believe you will need the extra help."

"Alright. Hey, speaking of Flag, what about the board of directors; were you able to get a hold of them?"

"Yes and no. I was able to reach Jonathan but had no luck in contacting Jennifer Knight or the others. Aside from that, there was something else I found quite troubling; Jonathan had no idea Kitt was even missing. I admit, I kept it a secret for the first two days, but Monday I filed an official report on the matter. He told me he would try to get in touch with the others," Scott explained.

"Not reassuring."

"Mm. Your flight doesn't leave until four correct? Let's say I send Ms. Stanton and the rest of the team on an errand while you, Bonnie and I swap more details over a nice lunch; my treat."

"Sounds great; your choice or mine?" Michael said with a smile, feeling strangely at ease with a man he couldn't stand just a week ago. In fact, it was sort of odd how easily he found trusting Scott to be. It was as if Scott reminded him of someone else.

"How about we let Bonnie decide? I'd hate to see what you'd pick and I doubt you would fancy my tastes in restaurants. Is eleven o'clock fine?"

"Should be. I'll let Bonnie know. Thanks."

"You're welcome, see you later," Scott said as he watched Michael make his way down the set of stairs next to them. The well-dressed man pulled out his phone and looked at the time; eight forty-five. He had quite a list of arrangements to make and little time to do it in, but first, he needed to get back to his room. The only reason he suggested the walk was because his room adjoined Matthew's, and he didn't know how prone to eavesdropping the man was. Scott didn't fully trust the driver considering how close Matthew seemed to try and hang around important conversations . . . and speak of the devil; here came the young man approaching him now from the other end of the walkway.

"Mr. Wellington, sir, I thought something happened. I was a little nervous when you didn't answer the door," he began. It took every ounce of Scott's self-composure not to roll his eyes.

"Matthew, I simply came out to enjoy some fresh air. For heaven's sake, you're my employee, not a personal bodyguard. In fact, I have a job for you. I want you to take Evelyn, Peter and Miranda back to the semi this morning; I'll inform them you're coming. Then I want you to stay with the semi until I call with further instructions."

"Yes, sir," Matthew said with some hesitance. Scott watched as the man left down the same nearby stairwell Michael had. He then pulled his phone back out and called Evelyn, asking her to go with Matthew to the semi and help develop some way of tracking KITT. No surprise when she told him she was already at the transporter. He promised to send the other two technicians along to help her. She sounded as gracious and grateful as usual, but he just couldn't wait to get off the phone with her. It was difficult to be cordial with someone you knew was being deceitful and even harder to keep up a façade of naivety. He told her he would be around later that afternoon to check on their progress, albeit, a little more tersely than he meant to.

"Steady, old boy," he said to himself as he got off the phone. They were too close to a breakthrough in this case to crack up now.

Lunchtime came quickly and its arrival found Michael, Bonnie, and Scott seated at a local eatery off the main boulevard. It was nothing fancy; nothing Scott would have selected anyway, but it had a nice airy décor of soft tans and browns. It had a quaint café feel, not something Michael would have chosen, but it was busy; a good sign the food wasn't half bad. Bonnie was just happy she could find a compromise that seemed to work for everyone. Once their orders were in they shifted right into business.

"Here are the plane tickets to New York. I arranged for my operative to meet you in Kingston Friday morning at this location," Scott explained as he handed the vouchers to Michael along with a sheet of paper, "After lunch, we'll need to go by the post office. The documents I've been waiting for finally arrived."

"The True Bolt accounts?" Michael asked as he slipped the papers into his jacket.

"Precisely. I'm hoping with those accounts I can build a case of embezzlement against William Key. Once we have him and find out what this True Bolt really is, we'll be able to open the entire organization up for investigation."

"Nailing down anyone else at Knight Industries who had anything to do with this, right?" Michael smiled. Scott nodded.

"But that won't stop those who are trying to steal Kitt. You said it's always some third-party group that gets a hold of the technology. What if we're too late?" Bonnie asked quickly, closing the laptop she had in front of her.

"We're going to find him, Bonnie. I doubt Evelyn would wait until Friday to leave if she knew where he was now," Michael tried to reassure her. She didn't seem all that convinced.

"She could just be here to throw us off. They could already have Kitt," she stressed.

"Look, you said yourself. Kitt chose to take off on his own and he's managed to stay one step ahead of us; people who have known him for years. What chance do strangers have?"

"Evelyn's no stranger," she retorted.

"I believe he's right here, Bonnie. I highly doubt these people would continue the ruse if they had what they wanted," Scott stated.

"I hope you're both right," she sighed as their waitress came to the table with their orders, "I really do."

"Enjoy your lunch guys," the waitress said as she turned and quickly left their table. A look of surprise lit up Scott's features as he turned in his seat. That voice.

"Wait!" he called out, but the server had already ducked through the kitchen doors. Michael and Bonnie looked on in confusion.

"What is it, Scott?" Bonnie asked as the man faced her with an equally perplexed expression.

"I have no idea. I recognize that woman's voice, but it's impossible . . ."

"Look," Michael interjected as he picked a plain white envelope up from next to the soup. He opened it to retrieve the letter inside. His blue eyes skimmed over the page before quickly darting up to the picture window they were sitting by.

"What does it say, Michael?" Scott asked in a lower tone as he noticed the hard look in the other man's eyes.

"She says were about to have company and she's right. Don't stare, but look out at the car," Michael said as he folded the note up. Scott and Bonnie did as he asked and spotted their ride being blocked in by a patrol car. A couple of Denver's finest stepped out of the vehicle just as another unit pulled into the diner's parking lot. A group of officers came together around the back of Michael's rental and seemed to confirm something among themselves as they turned their sights towards the restaurant.

"What's going on?" Bonnie asked excitedly, visibly pale. Scott glanced back at the kitchen, then to Michael who was giving him a harsh look.

"Was this a setup?" Michael growled. Scott winced.

"Dear Lord, no. I'm just as upset about this as you are."

"How do we know that?" Michael whispered as he saw the two officers approach the door.

"I've told you to trust me. The woman who delivered our lunch; she must be my operative. What else did that note say? Did she say to meet somewhere?" Scott questioned earnestly.

"Outside the bathrooms. I think we better go one at a time though or else we'll draw unwanted attention," Michael stated just as the front entrance opened to reveal the two cops.

"Agreed," Scott said as he ducked his head down.

"I think you should go first, Scotts," Michael whispered before looking to Bonnie across the table, "Are they looking this way?"

She shook her head no. Michael motioned for Scott to leave first. The older man wasted no time in getting up from the table, but he tried to remain as casual as possible. As he made it around the corner to the restroom area Michael nodded for Bonnie. She stood up quietly with her laptop case in hand and made her way across the restaurant, disappearing around the same corner Scott had. Michael got up and glanced down at the other end of the diner. He saw one of the officers approach the hostess with a printout of some kind. He couldn't make it out from where he was, but he watched as the young woman studied the paper and then pointed down his aisle.

It was time to go.

Before he could move, he caught eyes with one of the taller officers and immediately regretted the action. The cop started coming in his direction with a look of determination. Michael swiftly took off for the bathrooms, glad the eatery had such small rows as the officer was headed off by a waiter carrying a tray. Once Michael rounded the corner, he was surprised to see an empty hall and two doors; one marked _Men_ and the other _Women_. Where had the others gone?

"Psst," a harsh whisper came from his left. He snapped his head in that direction to see a third door with a hand peeking out and waving for him to come in. He heard the footfalls of the police coming up from behind and dashed for the mystery door. He made it inside and was greeted by the sights and sounds of an active kitchen as well as Bonnie, Scott and the undercover agent from earlier. The unknown woman quickly shut the door and turned towards him, giving Michael a better look at her face. He was shocked; he recognized her.

"Rachael . . . Rachael Sanders?" he asked disbelievingly. It was indeed the college student who accompanied him to BT Industries Monday. This was Scott's operative?

"Amazing what a little hair color and makeup can do. No time for that now though. I'll explain more once we reach the chopper," she stated, beginning to cut through the crowded kitchen. Michael and Bonnie looked at each other in confusion, but Scott was poised for action.

"Don't just stand there. Follow her," he announced as he worked his way into the congested space. The two lingered for a hesitant moment longer before trailing after Scott. Suddenly, the small door behind them burst open.

"There she is! You two, stop right there!" a voice called out, but Bonnie and Michael stayed their course.

"What are all you people doing in my kitchen?!" one of the overheated cook's shouted, nearly dropping a pot as the four fugitives squeezed past him to another door leading out back to the dumpsters. The cook narrowed his brown eyes and was about to yell again when one of the officers knocked into him causing the diner's signature sauce to spill all over the floor.

"Sorry," one of the four cops said offhandedly as they scrambled around the chaos for the back door.

"For crying out loud!" the cook moaned as he watched them track the mess everywhere. The police managed to reach the exit out into the small alleyway.

"They've headed out the back and towards the road, I think. There's four of them now," one officer said into his radio, "Have unit five surround the back and head . . . what the . . .?"

All four officers looked around as they heard the faint sound of helicopter blades. It seemed to be coming from a nearby building's roof. Soon, the sound was accompanied by a sight. They watched in astonishment as a helicopter lifted off, sending down powerful gusts of air into the alley. It resembled an HH-65 Dolphin in size but a Coast Guard's rescue chopper it was not. This one appeared custom-made; sleeker, quieter and a shaper design. It was painted dark ruby red with black markings throughout. The police couldn't see any of the occupants inside thanks to its tinted windows, but they had a sinking suspicion it was their suspects. Either way, the information wouldn't make much difference in catching the mysterious aircraft.

Michael, Bonnie, and Scott were safely riding in the back of the helicopter seated on a padded bench near the starboard wall. Michael and Bonnie were surprised by how quiet it was in the cockpit. They could hear each other quite comfortably in what appeared to be a soundproof cabin.

Bonnie instantly took notice of the control panel. Unlike most aircraft she'd ever seen, this one had a simpler layout; just a few switches and a touch screen. Her fear of flying seemed to give way to her fascination with this strange helicopter; it showed in her curious features.

Next to her sat Scott, looking down out of one of the windows to the slowly increasing army of law enforcement below. What had they wanted?

His mind swirled on several things; none of it making sense to him. He didn't know exactly what was going on, but he appeared to trust the young lady piloting the aircraft; it showed in his final sigh of relief.

Beside him was Michael, who was more than concerned. His suspicions were fully aroused and he didn't know what to expect next. He was agitated by the sudden turn of events; it showed in the way he sat straight up in his seat.

"What's going on here?" Michael asked, running a hand through his hair. Scott perked up at the question.

"Yes, Abigail, what are you doing here and why were those officers coming after us?"

"Wait!? Abigail?" Michael started, looking up to the pilot. She pressed a button on the console engaging the autopilot system before turning around in her seat. She gave the group an amused smile, but her eyes betrayed worry.

"Sorry, but as you can see, I had to act fast. No, Michael, you're not losing your mind. My cover was Rachel Sanders in Seattle, but I'm Abigail Rider."

"Well that sure explains everything," Michael stated sarcastically. The woman turned to Scott.

"They're really coming at Flag this time, Scott. Dr. Phillips and William Key issued reports this morning stating Dr. Barstow stole Kitt last Friday and Knight Industries is supporting the charges," Abigail said.

"What?!" Bonnie cried out.

"They're using altered versions of last Thursday's surveillance footage as evidence against you. The report says you tampered with Kitt, causing him to leave the premises later."

"That's not true. I signed in and out Thursday with the guard. They can't ignore that and there are cameras in the garage. I didn't do anything to Kitt," Bonnie explained in a panic. Scott stretched out a hand to calm the doctor down.

"It's alright, Bonnie. We know that. We'll clear it up once we get to the bottom of all this."

"That's just it, Scott. It gets worse. They also put an APB on you. They believe you were involved in Devon's death," Abigail stated lowly. The temperature in the cabin seemed to drop.

"Impossible. Why would they even come up with an accusation like that?" Scott said in horror.

"Apparently, Dr. Phillips found our same trail and is actually using the proof we gathered against us. I think that break-in Wednesday night was an opportunity for them to plant evidence. William closed the True Bolt account yesterday and ten to one says they're covering it up right now."

"This can't be happening," Scott breathed in disbelief holding his head in his hands. The work of ten years was unraveling before him. Michael's anger flared.

"Well, it is happening, so what are we going to do about it?!" he exclaimed.

"I don't know. The fact this is even happening may suggest they have Kitt already," Scott exasperated, "I just can't believe after ten years . . ."

"You let all this happen!" Michael interrupted heatedly. Scott looked over in startled anger.

"Michael, please . . ." Bonnie started but was ignored.

"No! There's a huge conspiracy surrounding Flag, Kitt's missing, you're charged with stealing him, Bonnie, and Devon was killed over this. Now you're telling me it's all for nothing! How could you let things get this bad? I don't understand it!" Michael continued.

"I've been working on this diligently for years. I've come closer to shutting these people down than anyone has, even the FBI," Scott snapped.

"All I see is you've been in charge of Flag for ten years and it's in worse shape for it!" Michael fumed bitterly. The hurt and fury in Scott's eyes were undeniable.

"Without me, the Foundation would have fallen apart from the beginning! I didn't see anyone else standing up for the organization, Michael, not you, not anyone! Forgive me if it wasn't to your liking, but I did what I needed to keep Flag alive and I didn't have much to work with anymore," Scott said with resentment evident in his English accent. Michael and Bonnie stared at the man in shock. They turned to look at each other as if to confirm their own senses. Scott's tone was so eerily familiar and yet upsettingly remote; as if it had been spoken from the grave because it would have to of been.

"Devon . . . ?" Bonnie mouthed hoarsely; throat tight with emotion. The man paled.

* * *

_. . . Love does not delight in evil . . ._


	11. Chapter 11

_Secure Telephone Conversation: Saturday 10 am_

" _I thought you said it would be at a parking garage in Brooklyn. Now you're telling me it's in Manhattan."_

" _Plans change, Doctor."_

" _Look, it doesn't matter just as long as we move it now! We still can't find Scott Wellington since that restaurant incident and we have no idea where that Michael Knight character is. No one has heard from Dr. Barstow either. If you ask me, I think they're both with Scott."_

" _It's all under control, Doctor. Relax."_

" _Relax?! If we don't reach the Knight Two Thousand before they do this whole operation will be down the tubes!"_

* * *

The last half hour found KITT conversing over aspects of his and DAWN's functions while the digital analyzer asked for more background on KITT's history. Of course, KITT didn't go over any recent events or advancements for security's sake. He mostly discussed past adventures with Michael, Bonnie, and Devon, deciding the material was old enough to remain harmless if ever disclosed to anyone else, though DAWN promised strict confidence. KITT found himself easily trusting the other AI unit. Despite his past disappointing experiences with computers over the years, this one appeared to be an interactive mainframe with the ability to be personable. He felt as if DAWN truly understood him. In fact, he was so absorbed in the exchange that concerns from earlier waned from his CPU. The chat was going so well until . . .

**Data retrieval complete. Ready for analysis results?**

"What?" KITT asked, startled by the sudden change in subject and tone. Gone was the sociable mannerism, replaced by the cold, professionalize from the beginning. The shock soon turned to resentment as he was bombarded by DAWN's equations and algorithms for a psychological profile. The other computer hadn't really been carrying on a conversation with him after all. It was just using the dialogue as a vehicle to obtain data for the purpose it was programmed for; like it was supposed to.

KITT tried to curve his offense from becoming anything more. It wasn't DAWN's fault and he should have known better; should have never allowed the semblance of hope to crop up, especially after such a brief encounter, but the familiar sensation of hurt seeped in anyhow. He was about to sever the link with Dawn when he was tempted by the report it had developed. How accurate was a digital analyzer of warranted narratives anyway?

**Ready for analysis results?**

"Yes."

**People find you smart, spirited and charming. You could also be described as amusing, realistic, and forever interesting; someone who's frequently in the center of attention, but sufficiently well-balanced enough not to let it go to their head, most of the time. You are also viewed as kind, considerate, and perceptive; someone who can be counted on to offer comfort and help out. You possess a sensible outlook on life. You are cautious and careful; weighing your options before acting. You're also viewed as clever, eloquent and talented, but caring most of all. You are someone who's extremely loyal to friends you do make and you expect the same reliability in return. Those who have taken the time to really get to know you recognize it takes a lot to shake your trust in your friends and an equally difficult time for that trust to be regained once broken.**

KITT's scanner blinked out for a moment before resuming its usual track. DAWN had outlined his characteristics near perfectly from just a few moments of interaction and there weren't even any typical investigative questions. Nicole had claimed the precise nature of its psychoanalysis was pretty good, but this was revolutionary. He had to admit, DAWN's performance was impressive, even if he was still disappointed by the lack of personality.

**Other results: Relationship to Bonnie (former technician), relationship to Darryl (recent contact/old acquaintance), relationship to Devon (former head of the foundation), relationship to Michael (former partner/old friend) and relationship to Nicole (recent contact).**

KITT's curiosity was peaked. How much more could this software have picked out?

"Bonnie, Devon and Michael, please."

There was a short pause before DAWN began.

**Bonnie: Relationship to the subject, former head technician. Based on the profile and narrative, she took excellent care of the subject. Bonnie understands the subject's limits and marvels at his person. Bonnie was perceived by the subject as supportive, fighting for his well-being; pulling him back together and making him better. Subject may have been infatuated with Bonnie at one time, but was let down; possibly from a breakup more likely a lengthy separation. Upon reintroduction, admiration for Bonnie was gained back quickly by the subject, indicating deep trust and devotion. However, the current tone in the subject's speech shows extreme strain in the relationship at this time.**

KITT didn't know what to make of the analysis, partly because it was too close to being accurate for his comfort, but mostly because he was caught up on the word 'infatuated'. Where could it have gotten an idea like that from?

**Devon: Relationship to the subject, former head of organization worked for. Based on the profile and narrative, Devon knew the subject for what the subject was; the legacy of a late friend, Wilton Knight. Devon knew the subject's worth, value, place, and purpose, maintaining mostly a professional relationship. Devon appeared reserved but kind toward the subject, which was reciprocated. Devon was spoken of in a sentimental tone, however, indicating possible absence or death.**

KITT internally shivered. He had only spoken of Devon once in their conversation, but he felt as if the other AI had known him his entire life. He was vaguely suspicious as to whether DAWN had somehow invaded his memory banks, but no breach of his security net was noted. It did make him wonder how 'sentimental' he sounded though.

**Michael: Relationship to the subject, former partner/old friend. Based on the profile and narrative, Michael acknowledges the subject as a friend. Michael is spoken of fondly by the subject indicating strong attachment and closeness; possibly viewed as family. Michael appears to see what no one else seems to, including the subject, signifying compensation for skills not possessed by the subject. Michael spent long periods of time with the subject facilitating a history of intimacy and reliance; Michael knew when the subject was upset or content and vice versa; Michael placed faith in the subject's abilities during dangerous situations and vice versa. The presence of a lengthy separation was detected, indicating a possible breakdown of trust. Stress in the subject's speech pattern shows the present fear of or for Michael.**

KITT inwardly frowned. He cut his connection to DAWN. Fabrications, they had to be; the analysis was not what he wanted to hear and certainly not what he wanted to dwell on too long. The loneliness and despair of before were returning. Here he was meeting new and old faces, talking to computers that seemed to read him like a book, and planning to run further away while his dearest, oldest friend was searching for him. Despite the impending doom he sensed, he wished that he could find Michael; go with him; be home. It was something he had wanted ever since Michael left the Foundation, but it had always been out of his scope of control. Now, it was so close; it was maddening.

Michael was here, in New York City somewhere, likely looking for him. And the man could be on his own; no FLAG involvement. It would be so easy; so incredibly simple to reach out and contact the man. His circuits wrenched at the possibility. All he needed to do was use his communications link to tap into a cell phone provider's satellite, plug in the number and wait for his friend to pick up . . .

"Abigail, I know where he is," a male voice came over his speaker. KITT's CPU froze. It was Michael. How did that happen?! He actually made contact. Why did he do that? How did he do that!?

"Hello? Anyone there?" Michael asked, irritation entering his tone. KITT's processor was reeling. He couldn't bring himself to answer Michael's inquiry, but he couldn't bear to cut the transmission either. He just listened.

"Who is this? . . . 2-2-7-5-2-9? . . . wait . . . Kitt? Kitt! Is that you?! . . . What's going on-?"

The connection was interrupted, or more accurately, severed.

"Michael?!" KITT exclaimed as he immediately did a scan of his surroundings. Someone had tapped into his frequency and cut his communication line; impossible. He had the most secure access key imaginable; even the most well-equipped hackers would have a difficult time detecting his signal let alone overriding it. However, once the data from his inspection registered the results, disbelief gave way to complete shock.

They found him.

_**Last Thursday Night** _

The cockpit of Abigail's helicopter had long since grown silent, but the quiet was not to be mistaken for peace. After the initial shock, screaming of profanity, resentful tears, and agonizing apologies, the tension was still palatable. The young pilot could understand the atmosphere completely. In fact, when she first discovered Scott Wellington was actually Devon Miles it was mystifying to her. She couldn't imagine how troubled Michael and Bonnie were about discovering their friend, a significant part of their unique family, had faked his own death for nearly a decade. Nevertheless, she needed them to resolve their issues quickly. They all needed to get back on track.

"Guys, I don't mean to push you but we're still on a mission here. How you want to work it out is up to you, but let's do it so we can move forward," Abigail announced, not daring to look back at their expressions. The silence stretched on, causing her tension. She didn't mean to offend them but . . . wait. Somebody cleared their throat.

"I'm sorry it turned out this way," the oldest member of the group finally spoke albeit softly. He seemed unable to remove his eyes from the floor at this point.

"I just can't believe this," Michael voiced in the same low tone, "Ten years. It's been ten years. Why?"

"I didn't mean for it to go this far or for this long. Michael, believe me, I didn't mean for it to . . . to . . . impact you two this much."

"Well, it did."

"I know, I know. Back in 92', I knew something was wrong within Knight Industries, but you and Bonnie were already established in your lives away from the Foundation. I couldn't very well involve you in this. At the time, I didn't know the operatives well enough to trust them and besides, I also knew the reputation of this group killing off people who nosed around in their business. I didn't want to see anyone else hurt," Devon began, lifting his head up to look at them, "I gathered as much evidence as I could, but became sick shortly thereafter. I immediately suspected I was being poisoned, but by whom and how I didn't know; I still needed to get to the bottom of this. It then occurred to me that if I faked my own death it would give rise to an opportunity I might not have gotten otherwise. These people would drop their guard and, with some help, I could come in as the next unassuming director; someone they could underestimate."

"We thought you were dead . . ." Bonnie trailed off painfully. Devon looked away for a moment before turning back.

"I understand that, but as I said, I didn't expect it to go as long as it did and the fewer people who knew about it the better."

"So who else knew about it?" Michael interjected.

"Well, Maggie Flynn for starters. She's been helping me solidify evidence outside the Foundation for years. She's the one who got me in touch with Abigail's grandfather, James Rider. It was actually Jim who helped me acquire the means of faking my death and becoming Scott Wellington. Technically, I'm an example of how far medical science has come. With him and Dr. Wesley's help, here I am. I must say Michael; I have a better appreciation for what you went through becoming Michael Knight."

"Why didn't you ever tell us?" Bonnie asked.

"I didn't want to disturb you. I was trying to shield you two and anyone else who might have been hurt by this group. I didn't even tell Kitt in fear he might slip it to you. It was meant to only last a few months, maybe a year, but by the time I really started gaining ground, years had already passed. It got away from me quickly and I didn't know how to rein it back in."

Michael sighed in heated frustration. Devon had this uncanny ability to do something completely reprehensible and yet remain guiltless in the middle of it. Just hours ago, Michael had believed he was partially responsible for this man's death; now he was being told by said man it was all a ruse and despite it all, Michael still respected the man for it. He was relieved even. It was a huge weight off him; one he didn't even know he was carrying. However, there was still one troubling question lingering.

"Were you ever going to tell us?" Michael said pointedly, staring the older man in the eye. Devon placed a hand over his mouth and chin, giving the question real thought.

"I know I've already caused so much damage, but I'll be frank with you. I had no intention of telling you, partly because I didn't think you two would ever become this involved with Foundation business again. I'll admit; I underestimated your attachment to Kitt and myself . . ."

Michael turned away shamefaced. Even though he had cared, back then, he had given Devon every reason to believe otherwise. It took some courage, but he was able to look back up as the older man continued.

"Mostly, I was afraid to. I could try and justify that the reason I didn't tell you was that I didn't want to cause you further harm, but the reality is . . . I was fearful you wouldn't help even if I did ask . . ." Devon's voice broke as he closed his eyes, "Oh God, what have I done."

Michael's nerve finally failed. He quickly glanced over at Bonnie who was wiping her cheeks free of fresh tears, trying to maintain composure. Even Abigail found herself keeping quiet in respect of the despair of the moment. Michael sat in the silence, listening to Bonnie's grief and Devon's regret. He bowed his head so as not to show his own pained expression and allowed a few silent tears to slip down. This was heartbreaking, but then, Michael had dealt with heartbreak before; they all had. This was no time to fall apart or give up, but how could they push through it? He took in a deep, calming breath and lifted his head.

"Devon," he said, using the other man's given name for the first time and feeling both uneasy and comforted by it.

"Yes . . ." Devon replied quietly until Michael surprised him with a firm hug.

"It's good to have you back," Michael said as he pulled away leaving one hand on the other's left shoulder. Devon was genuinely moved, fighting back the urge to turn away. He honestly didn't feel he deserved Michal's forgiveness, but then Bonnie touched him on the other shoulder. She sat down and he received a second hug from her. After a moment, she also withdrew, leaving a hand on his right shoulder. There was no way he could refuse their unspoken compassion. He reached up with both hands and placed one on each of theirs.

"Thank you."

"We obviously have a lot to work through, but Abigail's right; we still need to find Kitt and the people responsible for all of this, to begin with. Devon," Michael said, squeezing the older man's shoulder in support, "I'm sorry you thought . . . I wouldn't help you. Look, this whole thing has been crazy, but I've given it a lot of thought over the past week and I guess Wilton still knew what he was doing when he picked me. I'm in this thing all the way and the only question I have for you guys is, are you?"

"I'm with you," Devon affirmed without the slightest hesitation. Bonnie, on the other hand, shut her eyes in contemplation. So much was happening now. This wasn't the adventure she had in mind this morning and she certainly hadn't counted on becoming a fugitive overnight, but it appeared this was where the lines were finally going to be drawn in for good. Was she going to fret or fight?

"So am I," Bonnie said plainly. There were a few more moments of expectant silence; everyone still coming to terms with what this all meant, but at least they were united again.

"We're approaching New York; where am I going from here?" Abigail finally interrupted. The trio broke off.

"Bonnie found out Evelyn cleared some airspace around Kingston. Do you know where that's at?" Michael asked.

"No, but the Angel will," Abigail stated as she reached forward and activated the touchscreen on the panel.

"What's 'the Angel'?" Michael questioned. He watched as Bonnie stood up and approached the younger woman to get a better look at the controls.

"You're flying in it. Actually, its official title is the Rider Enterprises Inbound Alpha. It's the best rescue chopper there's ever been," Abigail said with pride as she brought up a map on the display.

"This helicopter is pretty amazing. I don't think I've ever heard one so quiet," Bonnie said, sounding impressed.

"Thanks. My grandfather started developing this bird in 88'. Finished it in 94', "Abigail smiled, but it slowly faded away, "I wish he were still here."

It was then Bonnie remembered Abigail's grandfather had been killed by the criminals who might now have KITT.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"So am I. Anyway, it is pretty amazing. I could give you some of the specs on it if you'd like."

"I assume it has a good Automatic Flight Control System?" Bonnie asked.

"No, she has the world's best AFCS, or at least she did?" Abigail said sadly once more. Bonnie looked on with a puzzled expression. Devon frowned.

"Remember when I told you about a helicopter being stolen from the Dart program?" he stated more than asked. Bonnie and Michael realized the connection.

"I'm sorry, Abigail, I didn't mean to bring up something so upsetting . . ." Bonnie began.

"Nah. Sometimes I'm a little too sensitive, that's not your fault. I'm just attached to this helicopter. It's kind of a long story, but I think you'd understand. When the Angel was stolen in 2000 she had been equipped with the Rider Enterprises Inbound Alpha system or Reia," Abigail began before she felt her throat tighten. It was still difficult to talk about. Devon decided to take over.

"It was an onboard flight navigator; a computer program much like Kitt. When we recovered the helicopter, it appeared something irreplaceable was taken out and we never did get it back. Reia was lost."

"Just another reason why I want to get my hands on these guys," Abigail stated angrily.

"Well, that makes two of us," Michael said with conviction, "Once we get to the city we're going to find these guys and shut them down for good."

"Speaking of which, am I landing in the city of Kingston?" Abigail asked turning to face the man. Michael gave a sheepish look and shrugged. Bonnie rolled her eyes.

"Here, it was northwest of the city in a forested area . . . right there," she directed, pointing to the position on the screen's map.

"Okay, another hour and we should be there," Abigail smiled.

"Abigail, you said Bonnie and I were wanted by the law, but what about Michael?" Devon asked abruptly. The dark-haired woman frowned.

"There wasn't anything I could find, which bothers me. They know who you are Michael and they could have easily tied you in with stealing Kitt too. Apparently, they don't seem to think arresting you as the best course of action," Abigail said solemnly.

"So, they want to kill me. Great," Michael said sarcastically. This was getting better all the time. Abigail smirked.

"If it makes you feel better, they want me dead too."

"I'll feel better about this when it's over," Bonnie interrupted. Abigail gestured for Bonnie to have a seat in the co-pilot chair to which the doctor obliged.

"I would have to agree with you Bonnie," Devon said, "Without access to the Foundation's computers we'll have limited abilities in locating Kitt, not to mention the whole fugitive business."

"Well luckily, the Angel does have the capability of connecting with other databases. If we can find a safe place to work, maybe we can catch Evelyn and the others in the act near Kingston," Abigail said.

"Well, then I better get to work on finding Kitt again," Bonnie said as she turned back to face Michael, "Can you hand me my bag?"

"And we better find a way to compile all this evidence," Michael said as he did as she requested. Within minutes, the once tense, somewhat hostile atmosphere from before dissipated completely, leaving in its place a familiar sense of camaraderie for them all as they worked; a sense of home.

By an hour, the group had reached the location specified by the air clearance. However, Evelyn was nowhere to be seen. In fact, nothing appeared to be there. No helicopter, no small army; not even a shack in the woods. They did spot some winding service roads leading up to some empty meadows, but there was no sign of KITT or any other vehicle. Abigail circled the region a few times, using different instruments to try and weed out anything below the thick tree-line. She found nothing.

With little else to go on and daylight fading the team decided to land just outside Bluestone Wild Forest. The Angel came with retractable landing gear, giving Abigail the ability to taxi the helicopter closer to the tree-line; a way of preventing anyone passing by from spotting the chopper. She then informed the group there was camouflage netting under the benches. They quickly got it out and began the task of covering the aircraft; couldn't risk being seen from the air either.

"How much power do the systems have left in this state?" Bonnie asked as she finished with the last bit of coverage.

"Enough to last five days without flying; just have to run the engines every twelve hours," Abigail answered.

"Good. Mind if I get back on the console?"

"Not at all, be my guest."

"Thanks."

Bonnie went back in and resumed her work at trying to whittle down the array of network choices KITT's brief contact had brought up. The rest soon joined her and before long Bonnie had what she had been looking for.

"You're not going to believe this, but he's in New York City."

"I don't believe it. Kitt _can't stand_ New York, or at least, that's what he always said," Abigail said incredulously.

"Yes, I don't recall him ever referring to the place with fondness in his reports," Devon added. Michael shrugged.

"Makes sense to me."

They all turned to the man. Michael couldn't help but grin at their baffled expressions.

"If he did run away then, going by his logic, why not head to the last place anyone would think to look for you."

"Alright, since you have this all figured out, Michael, you shouldn't have any problem tracking him down," Bonnie smiled slyly as she typed a few more commands on to the laptop.

"No problem. Have a starting place?" he asked eagerly, leaning in over her shoulder to look at the screen.

"Yup. Brooklyn."

"Brooklyn? Like, all of Brooklyn."

"Like all of it."

"That's not a starting point. That's a needle in a haystack," Michael exclaimed, standing back. Bonnie turned to face him as Devon and Abigail hid their amused faces. However, Bonnie's statements brought back the severity of the situation.

"It's the best I can do. We have to find him before they do if they haven't already."

After a few hours of negotiating a plan and getting something to eat, Michael and Abigail found themselves in a rented compact car heading towards the Big Apple early Friday morning. Bonnie and Devon decided to stay behind in Kingston in an effort to hang low. Abigail opted to drive, if for nothing else, but to give Michael a few minutes of sleep. The man had practically been up for twenty-four hours. The trip was uneventful until a large pothole shuttered the entire vehicle, causing a severe reaction from Michael.

"I'm so sorry," Abigail apologized, as she appeared to be equally startled, "I didn't even see that one."

"It's alright, these roads aren't known for being smooth," Michael said with a yawn and stretch. He looked out the window to see that the wooded area had swapped for an urban maze of streets, buildings, and people. He then looked to his companion.

"How long until we reach Brooklyn?"

"About another twenty minutes. You can go back to sleep if you like. I'll wake you up when we get there."

"Nah, I think I'll be okay. Besides, couldn't sleep if I wanted to with all this noise," he said referring to the outside traffic.

"I know what you mean. This city can be a headache sometimes, but you can always drown it out with aspirin and some of the best pizza and hot dogs around."

Michael smiled. He hadn't known Abigail that long, but he was starting to like her and her brand of humor. Grant it, he was still put out by the whole Rachel Sanders ruse, but it was for a good reason; so let bygones be bygones. For someone so young, she seemed so . . . mature, but it was the kind of wisdom gained from hardship and redemption. Of course, it had been the same way for him in many respects. This kind of work had a way of aging a person and quickly. But, if she wasn't Rachel Sanders or Miss Morton, who was Abigail Rider besides the granddaughter of Devon's late friend?

"I know you probably read up a lot about me, but I'm at a disadvantage here. Where are you from originally; how did you end up here?"

"Well, I was born in Sacramento, but my father was in the National Guard so we did a lot of moving about the country," Abigail said with an easy air about her. Michael nodded in understanding.

"Military brat, huh? Yeah, I was in the Army, Green Berets, so I do know what moving around is like."

"Like moving from California to New York to Alaska."

"Ouch."

"Yeah," she smiled, before her features fell a little, "My dad was a helicopter pilot, but he died in an accident off the coast of Florida when I was twelve. My mom and I moved in with my grandfather in Arizona after that."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Michael said genuinely, seeing another dimension to this young woman.

"I was too, but my grandpa had a way of making things better. You see, my dad died in a botched rescue attempt and my grandpa had an idea. He wanted to make a rescue helicopter that could have saved my father's life too and would save many others. I helped him with it or at least that's what he always told me I was doing. Looking back, I'm pretty sure I was more in the way than anything, but finally, Reia was finished. He created the Dart program as a nonprofit organization to help those needing assistance in any situation. It was the best."

She smiled and so did Michael. He could already see where this was heading.

"Let me guess, you wanted to be its first pilot," he said.

"Yup, and I was. I studied helicopters, made models, practiced on remote control toys, bought simulators and began flying lessons when I was fifteen. By the time it was finished, I was ready, but of course, my mom and even grandpa had their issues with an eighteen-year-old flying a one of a kind rescue chopper into dangerous situations."

"Of course," Michael seconded, enjoying the youthful enthusiasm she had.

"Right, but, with Reia's help, I proved I could do it and better than anyone else. So, here I am," she said with a smile before her features became more thoughtful, "I would ask you where you're from, but I know that might be . . . a sensitive subject."

"Nah, it doesn't bother me like it used to. Technically, I was born in Reno as Michael Long, but I guess you could say Michael Knight was born in two places; the Nevada desert and a billionaire's home," Michael stated.

"I have to admit, that is something; waking up and finding you have a new life."

"Yeah, try doing it twice," Michael said, looking through the passenger side window. Abigail focused back out the windshield, hoping she hadn't offended him, but there was something she had really wanted to know ever since she heard about Michael Knight and for her, there was only one way to get it; directly.

"Why'd you leave the Foundation?" she asked, avoiding eye contact. Michael gave her a sidelong glance, slightly surprised by her brazenness. She barely knew him outside what Devon probably told her, and it wasn't like she was asking about the weather. He pondered the question and its intent for being asked.

"I left for a lot of reasons. Why do you ask?" was his cool reply.

"I guess what I want to know is if you are going to come back."

He turned to face her completely. So that was it.

"I don't really know," he said honestly. Abigail gave a short sigh.

"Well, I enjoyed working for Flag, but Dart needs me too now that David's gone. With just Devon and I, our resources are stretched pretty thin. I might be overstepping my bounds but I've seen the way you and Bonnie have worked so hard over this last week and just felt you should come back."

"Huh? Maybe one day I'll feel the same way too," Michael said softly; despondently. Abigail couldn't help but respond to his sorrow. She hadn't meant to cause any pain.

"I'm sorry. I'm out of line here. You need to do whatever it is you need to do," she said meaningfully.

"Actually, it's alright. Considering the circumstances it's a fair assumption. After this, there's a chance I might."

She looked over at him with an expression of happiness and surprise.

"Hey, I'll take it."

Michael couldn't help but smile too at her zeal.

"Devon didn't put you up to this did he?" he asked with playful suspicion.

"Nope; but I'm sure he'd be happy to have you back."

Michael smiled. He knew Devon would be ecstatic if he came back. Obviously, it would be different; no more fieldwork. It made him wonder; would KITT be happy if he came back? With everything he'd heard so far, it didn't sound like the AI was too content nowadays. But, for one reason or another, KITT had never discussed the hardships with him. Michael's concern over his old partner's well-being prompted him to ask:

"How was KITT when you met him?"

Abigail was surprised by the question but understood the reasoning behind it. She could hear the worrisome searching in his tone. She was concerned about KITT too and she had only spent two years with the AI. She could only imagine the impact on someone who had spent eight working with the special, one of kind personality. She didn't know exactly how to answer him, considering this was a very delicate topic too. She didn't want to alienate him with her own experiences with KITT or discourage him with problems that couldn't be fixed, but at the same time . . .

"He was very . . . formal at first. I was Miss Abigail Morton and he was the Knight Industries Two Thousand. We worked together, solved cases and went home," she said, in almost mock seriousness. Michael quirked an eyebrow.

"Then what happened?" he asked.

"On our fifth case together, I was done with all the by the book stuff, so, I asked him what he thought about ramping over three speeding police cars to reach our man. He was surprised, but I honestly believe it had more to do with him being asked his opinion than the idea itself. Anyway, I'm sure you know this better than I do. He goes into this long explanation of why it was ridiculously unsafe and unreasonably dangerous, but he doesn't say it can't be done."

"So you did it," Michael said with a laugh. Abigail smiled.

"Yup."

"And you got an earful afterward."

"Yup. It broke the ice though; at least, he called me Abigail after that. It's kind of weird when I think about it but I can't pinpoint exactly when we became friends. I'm just glad we did," she said with a smile. Michael also grinned. He could see his former partner taking a shine to this young lady.

"I even got him to laugh once."

"Laugh? Like a _ha ha_ laugh? From Kitt?" Michael asked incredulously. He knew KITT was capable of the sentiment, having heard it a few times himself, but knew it wasn't something that came easy for the program.

"Yeah. He was telling these awful puns one day so I decided to look up a few jokes about computers," she said. Michael chuckled a bit, remembering KITT's terrible jokes, but he wondered what kind of joke could have gotten his old partner to laugh.

"So what did you say?"

"Well, at first, I thought he'd be offended, but he was bringing it on himself. It was a one-liner: To err is human, but to really foul things up requires a computer."

"He laughed at that?"

"Trust me, I was just as surprised, but he did," she said with a smile.

"Sounds like you guys had some pretty good times."

"We did," she said before adding sadly, "I wish I could have left him under better circumstances."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Michael said slipping back into silence.

"Well, anyway, we're almost there," Abigail said as they reached Brooklyn. They were able to secure a hotel room using Abigail's alias Rachel Sanders. It was to act as a base of operations for them as they got in touch with Bonnie and Devon. Unfortunately, for both groups, hotel pricing and camping out in a helicopter made for rather cramped quarters. Despite this, they all managed to get work done.

Devon contacted Maggie and had her send for the documents in Denver. He also asked her to get in touch with a lawyer to investigate the legality of the accusations against Bonnie and himself. Abigail had discovered there was going to be a technological exposition at the civic center Saturday in Manhattan. She decided to go over and check out the vendors, maybe find a few leads there. Bonnie finally pinpointed a more exact network location for KITT and drew up a radius the AI might be in; sending it via fax to the hotel.

Michael was tasked with trying to track the Trans Am down which he naturally accepted, but, had to admit, wasn't having much luck at. It was now eleven o'clock at night and having started around nine this morning, he was feeling rather frustrated. Without the Foundation's equipment, this really was shaping up to be a shot in the dark situation. For braving public roads, fighting through large crowds and interviewing anyone who would listen about the whereabouts of a little black car, he had very little to show for it.

_Beep! Beep!_

Michael picked up his pace across a busy Brooklyn intersection along with the other straggling pedestrians as the lights changed. Nightfall in the big city wasn't a good place to be distracted. Michael was normally pretty good at keeping an eye on his surroundings. After all, that's what made him a good investigator way back when, but currently, his attentions were being preoccupied. The longer he stayed out searching the more his thoughts had time to wander. He was still trying to come to grips with what took place yesterday with Devon.

Just a week ago, his world made sense; now everything was called into question. Maybe it was the exhaustion, but his mind didn't even know where to start in unraveling the mess of the last eight days. Between KITT's disappearance, Knight Industries' conspiracy, his re-involvement with the Foundation, and finding out Devon wasn't really dead . . . the feelings of fear, anger, and joy swirled around him. How had he made it this far with his sanity intact? Even the last twenty-four hours were becoming a complete blur. One task, one excitement, one grief, one thing ran into another until he didn't really know what he was doing anymore.

Well, if KITT was still here, it would take Michael ages to find him this way. Friday night was a busy time for any place, let alone New York City but, instead of that fact deterring the man, he pressed on. He was tired and frustrated but most of all, he was stubborn and committed. He was determined to find his old partner and the parking garage coming into view doubled his resolve.

'Joe's Parking Garage; Best Rates in Brooklyn. Too bad I hadn't heard of it earlier; could have parked there. Sounds just like the sort of place Kitt would use to throw us off though,' Michael thought wryly. He began walking.

As he was about to cross in front of an alleyway he heard footsteps fall in behind him. This wouldn't have been a problem if they hadn't been accompanied by a familiar click. The person behind him was armed. He wasn't. His stomach lurched as he reached up to tap the comlink he was thankful Bonnie insisted he take.

Then, he saw it.

There, hidden in the shadows of the alley, was the unmistakable outline of an early eighties muscle car; black finish reflecting the streetlights; red scanner bar darkened just like his world once the butt of a Browning hit the back of his head.

* * *

_. . . but rejoices with the truth . . ._


	12. Chapter 12

_Secure Telephone Conversation: Saturday 5 pm_

" _You said it would be ready by today, Greg; I've kept my end of the deal. Now, where is it?"_

" _There's been a change, Mr. Key; you won't be getting the Knight Industries Two Thousand just yet."_

" _What?! You said...!"_

" _What I said and what I meant are two very different things."_

" _I ought to shut this down right now you dirty son of . . ."_

" _Now, now; don't lose your temper. You're in this too deep to back out now. If I fall, you'll go down with me. And you haven't completed your task just yet. Once all the board members are dead then you'll get the car."_

" _Even Dr. Phillips?!"_

" _Especially our dear Dr. Phillips."_

* * *

KITT was overwhelmed with the sensation of surprise. The last person he expected to see standing at the end of his nose was his recently retired technician, Evelyn Williams. Last he'd heard, she'd been working for another company in Sanford, but here she was, smiling down at him in that self-assured way of hers; a smirk.

"Kitt, what are you doing way out here?"

"I could ask you the same question, Evelyn," KITT remarked nervously. He still didn't know if this was some sort of odd coincidence or FLAG's attempts at finding him; he was hoping for the former.

"I'm here looking for you, Kitt."

His spirits sank. The Foundation had finally caught up with him . . . or had they?

Evelyn left FLAG almost six months ago and she appeared alone now. Maybe this was still some strange happenstance . . . but, it would also be logical to assume the Foundation had asked her to help locate him. After all, he had thought the same thing of Michael just hours earlier. He should have stayed in surveillance mode; been more aware of his surroundings, but that was neither here nor there.

"So, again, Kitt, what are you doing out here?"

He didn't know what to say in reply. He really didn't have a reason for being way out here, other than . . . he _felt_ something was wrong and there was something wrong, there had to be because he felt even worse now. Nevertheless, he couldn't tell her that. She wouldn't believe him for one and it could be none of her business for another. Evelyn frowned.

"Did you hear me, Kitt?"

"Yes, Evelyn," he stated in a small voice, trying to think of an appropriate response. Then something dawned on him as she moved to his driver's side; she hadn't voiced a connection to FLAG either. Where were the Foundation's equipment and mobile transporter? How did she even find him without access to his homing beacon or the proper tools? He didn't scan anything but a cell phone and a small, unknown device on her; a device cased in lead. His past reservations about FLAG transferred over to the woman in front of him now. He didn't trust her. Evelyn's frown deepened.

"Do you realize how much trouble you've caused, Kitt, for the Foundation and Knight Industries? Everyone's looking for you. Why did you leave?" she insisted; eyes burning with anger and accusation. KITT suddenly felt like a scolded child; not the most pleasant sensation and when coupled with his anxiety that she only mentioned FLAG for his benefit . . . he was terrified of her. He couldn't find it in himself to answer; only look on as she tried to gain access to his door. He kept it locked.

"Let me in, Kitt," she ordered, eyes still smoldering. He gathered himself up, realigning his thought patterns and procedures. All kinds of conflicting sensations were buzzing around his processor; another drawback to his ever-powerful CPU. Finally, he found his voice.

"I can't, Evelyn. My records indicate that you no longer work for Flag and I can't allow anyone access to my cabin without authorization; you know that," he lied; amazed by his ability to do so, considering hours earlier he had allowed Darryl, Cassidy, Randy and Nicole to ride around with him. He tried to ring up Michael again, but he couldn't; something was jamming his communications feed. He wondered if it had anything to do with that lead-lined box.

"I'm not just anyone. Scott Wellington asked me to help find you, Kitt. He asked just about every technician you've ever had to come out looking for you. Please, don't make this harder than it has to be," she said in a softer tone. KITT tried to reach out to the Foundation's databanks to see if what she was saying were true but found that his access was denied. How could that be? He had always been able to get in. Why would they lock him out?! His fear was mixing with frustration. How could he authenticate what Evelyn was saying?

"I can't dial up the Foundation or find the semi anywhere on my scopes. Where is Mr. Wellington?" he asked.

"Well, something may be malfunctioning. Let me have a look," she responded, trying the handle again and finding herself unable to open it. KITT's scanner flashed in exasperation.

"No! Nothing is malfunctioning. Bonnie checked them earlier and everything was fine . . ."

"You mean Dr. Barstow found you already and didn't report back to us?" Evelyn asked in a reproachful tone. KITT panicked.

"No. No, she checked me before I left Friday morning . . ."

"Are you saying she tampered with you before you took off?" she accused. KITT became more flustered, but anger began to rise up as well. She was putting words in his proverbial mouth.

"That's not it at all! Bonnie would never do any such thing . . ."

"Never? I seem to recall a certain incident at Helios . . ." Evelyn suggested with too much eagerness. That tore it. KITT's temper flared at her tone.

"I accessed all my functions moments ago, thoroughly. Something, or _someone_ , is blocking them right now," he protested, the emphasis on the word someone not lost on Evelyn. Her eyes narrowed as he started up the engine.

"Kitt, I've worked on you dozens of times and I've never hurt you before. Look, if you say Bonnie had nothing to do with this then I believe you, but let me in now so I can help you. If you try and take off again we'll have to do this the hard way," she warned. KITT dropped the car into gear and backed out of the parking space slowly; hesitantly. He didn't know what to think anymore. She had helped him in the past and she could be right; he could be malfunctioning. She could be telling the truth, but then he would be going back to the Foundation; a place where he didn't want to go. But she couldn't be right. She was alone . . . maybe . . . he couldn't really tell. What was happening to him?

"Please, where's Michael. I know he's here in the city. I want to speak with him," he requested, idling the engine down. Evelyn raised her eyebrows in an intrigued manner; in a manner that made him nervous. Maybe he shouldn't say anything else to her.

"Really? That's good to know. Unfortunately, you won't be speaking with him anytime soon. We're going to have to do this the hard way. You probably don't remember the remote manual override system I developed mainly because I didn't tell you," she smiled a little too sweetly.

KITT's turbine engine cut out abruptly. The AI tried to engage the ignition but couldn't. A familiar barrier usually only his driver from inside the car could activate now locked him out. He no longer had access to the car's controls. All he could do was watch as Evelyn nonchalantly walked up to the black Trans Am and popped the door open as if she owned him. KITT was aghast as she sat down neatly in the driver's seat and faced his modulator.

"I don't understand. How were you able to . . . why are you doing this?" he demanded, albeit weakly. He really wasn't in a position to make demands. Her smile made him feel sick.

"Well, partly for money; the rest is for scientific gain, I promise. Pity I have to drive, though. I was really looking forward to being chauffeured," she chirped, shutting the door. KITT had a sinking sensation she wasn't going to be bringing him back to the Foundation, but he had to ask; he had to be sure.

"Are we heading back to Flag headquarters?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Kitt. Sorry, no hard feelings, but I can't trust you to keep that information to yourself. You've already set us back a week with this stunt you pulled and we don't need any more delays," she complained, turning over the motor.

"So, you're not taking me back to the Foundation, I presume?" KITT asked as Evelyn grabbed the steering yoke with her left hand and placed the car in drive with her right.

"What do you think?" she shot back, pressing her foot on the gas. KITT was still trying to hold on to the benefit of a doubt. Maybe there was another explanation for all this or a misunderstanding because the alternative was unbearable.

"I think you're stealing me, but I don't understand why. Care to share that much with me?" KITT snapped back as he was taken forward towards the ramps. Evelyn's sharp laughter caused him to recoil internally. Why was she doing this to him? He tried to contact Michael again but ran into the same transmission block from earlier.

"You really are something, Kitt. I have to admit, out of all the ones I've worked with, you're tops in my book. You can stop trying to call for help now too. You have no access to any of your important functions including communication. You can't tap satellites, towers or landlines and even if you did get through you would just be leading them to their deaths. But, if you want to keep at it, be my guest," she said, pulling the car out of the parking garage. KITT staggered at her comments; she really was stealing him and there was next to nothing he could do about it. He couldn't activate any of his anti-theft devices; he couldn't even access his own body. It both scared and angered him. How could she do this to him?

"Ms. Williams, I don't know what you intend on doing with me, but you need to stop right this moment and return me back to . . ."

"Look who's talking. What did you intend on doing running from the Foundation, to begin with? You never did answer you know," she smirked. KITT's aggravation flared. It had been such a hard week for him; such a long, hard week and he was reaching a breaking point; just one betrayal too many.

"I don't care to answer your question until you answer mine. Where are you taking me?" he nearly growled; such arsenic in his voice it was as if acid was coming from the modulator. A moment of unease crossed the driver's face, but it passed quickly.

"Have it your way then. It's not like I'm going to lose sleep or anything, unlike you. It appears you've skipped quite a few sleep cycles over this escapade; that's how we found you by the way. You broadcast a signal in sleep mode now. Must be taxing on the old computer banks; hu? Was it worth it?" she said with mock concern; a type of cutting sarcasm his fragile morale couldn't take.

"I have nothing further to say," he stated flatly, glad for once at the emotionless tone he could emit even though his courage was shattering into pieces. Evelyn raised an eyebrow but kept her eyes on the road ahead.

"Your infamous silent treatment."

No reaction.

"Nothing worse than a long car trip in stiff company."

No response.

"If I told you I don't know where we're going, would you talk to me?"

No answer.

"If I told you we were going to the moon, would you then . . ."

"Why bother keeping me online? You could simply use the computer override key as well; I know you're aware of it, Ms. Williams," he snapped halfheartedly, but meaning every word.

"I would never dream of doing that to you, Kitt. Besides, the man I work for requested you this way."

Again, there was no reply, but for entirely different reasons. Who was she talking about? Who requested him? It wasn't as if he had a way of truly finding out. Evelyn certainly wasn't going to tell him and he couldn't access any data in his current state. The twisted thing was his override switch was meant to be a means of taking back control of the car in case of sabotage. Obviously, the reverse was never thought out as it also proved to be an excellent tool for a saboteur. If only he could call Michael; anybody.

A couple of hours passed and KITT remained true to his word; he said nothing further to the woman no matter how many times she tried to engage him in conversation. He busied himself with reading the direction and heading of the vehicle, still able to see the speedometer and odometer thanks to his input sensors still being operational. They were out of New York City and seemed to be moving upstate judging by the highways she was taking. The tall skyscrapers and traffic were slowly replaced by suburbs and yards before becoming trees and countryside. The area was desolate, with a few structures spread miles apart. He would have appreciated the change in scenery if it wasn't under such distressing circumstances.

"Finally, we're here," Evelyn spoke, startling KITT out of his observations.

"And where's here exactly?" he asked, startling her. She smiled, pulling the car onto a dirt road which led into an empty field.

"Talking to me now, are we?" she stated coyly, "Well, for the record, you're not going to like this."

KITT's scanner activated; one of the other few things he still had access to. He searched ahead, down the dusty path some ways, until he spotted a . . . oh no.

"A modified Boeing CH-47 Chinook. Helicopter big enough to transport a military Humvee or a little black sports car," Evelyn stated.

She was right; he wasn't going to like this at all.

**Earlier Saturday Morning**

Honk! Honk!

Michael groaned at the intrusive sound. He was faintly aware of passing traffic and murmuring voices, but he couldn't make sense of it. He suffered aching muscles and a throbbing head, wondering why he felt so terrible. With some effort, he was able to blink his eyes open; everything blurry at first before revealing what appeared to be some abandoned shop. Surrounding him were store shelves lined with dust and walls plastered with pieces of mix-matched poster board. The only light came from a dingy picture window towards the front and, judging by the state of the floor, this was a place visited more by vagrants than rats.

How did he get here?

He tried standing up but soon found his movements were restrained by green, cotton rope secured to a blue plastic chair he was seated in. He looked down at himself and noticed his jacket and boots were missing. His wallet and cell phone were most likely among those things too and . . . what was stuffed in his mouth? He tried to spit it out only to find the salty cloth was firmly set, probably from the same rope. Someone had tied him up and gagged him. He felt his head throb again as he tried to remember what happened.

He was in Brooklyn looking for KITT and he found him, but then . . . he was being followed by somebody with a gun. They must have hit him from behind. He wriggled his hands in the bonds, trying to loosen them, but found it to be a futile gesture. They were tightly tied at the wrist behind the chair's back and his arms weren't helping either as they were snugly wrapped to the plastic frame. He looked up at the dirty front window and saw shadows passing by it. Someone might be able to see his plight if he could get over to the opening. He sat for a moment, taking in a deep breath through his nostrils and gathering what strength of mind and body he had for the task of getting up

He spread his feet, which luckily weren't tied, apart to get more leverage as he fanned his hands out and braced his back against the chair to help lift it. In one try he was up; a result of experience more than anything. He wobbled a bit as he tried to find the right balance so he could walk forward. He found it easier to progress on his toes, but it was painful as the ropes dug into the bare skin of his arms and wrists. He grunted in frustration as he noticed a door leading out to the street was cut off by a service counter and shelves. Obviously, his assailant didn't want him getting away too quickly.

Michael kept on track towards the store window and finally made it across the dirty shop. He plopped down in exhaustion. He didn't know what time it was, but, judging by the light, he'd have to say it looked around six or seven in the morning. He had been out for some time. With a sigh, he peered through the glass and witnessed the hustle and bustle of a typical Saturday morning in this part of town. Cars were cruising down the street, bicycles were traveling along the same route and people were walking past him, unaware of his presence. As expected, his first priority had been to get somebody's attention, but that soon changed as he focused on something across the street.

There, in the same alley from last night, sat KITT; scanner pacing back and forth steadily. Michael instinctively tried to jump up but was quickly subdued by the chair and ropes. He gave out a muffled cry, renewing his efforts to weaken the bonds that held him to no avail. He leaned forward and tried to tap the window with his head but he came up inches short thanks to the department store's large indoor display sill. He let out another growl of frustration. He had been so close to getting KITT back; was still close and couldn't do anything about it. No, there had to be something.

He frantically looked around the room. Was there anything sharp? Loose? Open? He couldn't find anything that looked useful. His eyes snapped forward again when his peripheral picked up movement; KITT was moving. Did the AI know he was here? Michael doubted it. KITT had obviously powered down last night or surely the AI would have come to his rescue when he was attacked. Unless his surveillance mode was activated, Michael knew the computer wouldn't even know he was here now. A sigh escaped the man's lips as he watched the car come to a stop just before the road . . . wait, who were they?

Michael continued to watch as two people came up next to KITT; a man and woman. He couldn't make out their faces but they were dressed alike, so it was safe to assume they were together; may be getting ready to enjoy the same hobby or worked for the same company. What caught his attention, however, was how they seemed to be giving the Trans Am a lot of consideration; almost like interaction, but KITT wouldn't just be talking to strangers . . . yeah, sure. KITT wasn't supposed to run away from them either. Michael was even more intrigued when the couple got into the car; KITT didn't even seem to resist. Did these people have control over the AI? It was a question that certainly wouldn't get answered here.

He awkwardly got back onto his feet, turned around and tried hitting the glass with the back of the chair in an effort to break it. All he got for his efforts were more bruises on his wrists, dust raining down on him from the top shelves and sweat pouring down his face. He couldn't believe this ridiculous situation. Some two-bit mugger had come between him and finding KITT and now a plastic chair was hindering him from escaping and catching up with the AI across the street. He let out a long frustrated yell, which was more of a stifled scream thanks to the gag that was now soaking wet with saliva. He turned back around just in time to see the little black car pull into traffic. Something was familiar about the driver, but he couldn't place it . . .

"Michael?" Bonnie voiced from seemingly nowhere. Yet, it sounded very close to his right ear. The comlink; it was still on. He shouted again and then listened; setting the chair back down and watching in what direction KITT was going. There was a short pause before:

"If you can hear me, Michael, I assumed you were in danger when you didn't answer last night and I sent Abigail to look for you. She has your location down to a block, but she's having trouble pinpointing your exact spot. If you can, give a signal of where you are," Bonnie instructed. Michael grumbled. He had already tried making noise and it didn't seem anyone from the outside could hear him and the window was so dirty he wondered if anyone could see in. Wait, what if . . .

He scooted the chair back and lifted his leg up onto the window ledge. Using his sock and foot he was able to write a decent-sized S.O.S. in the grime. Several minutes ticked by and Michael was beginning to feel hopeless, but suddenly the door behind the counter was kicked in. He nearly fell backward at the sudden action. Standing in the doorway was a frazzled looking Abigail, who seemed ready to pop.

"There you are! Thank God, you're alright. We have to hurry. I think I might have seen Kitt drive by!"

The woman soon had Michael untied from the chair, but the task of finding suitable footwear for the man was another story. Then there was the little issue of their rental car being towed away thanks to going over the parking meter it was at. The two conversed/argued back and forth over several points, trying to line up facts and hail a taxi.

As they got into the cab, they both came to the conclusion Michael's attack was most likely brought on by some kind of gang initiation as he still had his cell phone and wallet, minus the cash, of course. Luckily, he was still alive too. They agreed on seeing KITT and compared notes on the couple last seen with the car. Abigail pointed out the fact their polo shirts had the Technologic Innovations Expo logo on the back and Michael swore he knew the man from somewhere.

"Why don't you take a look at the names on this list? I uh, borrowed it from the registration desk at the center; it might be helpful," Abigail whispered, not wanting to be overheard by the cabbie. Michael accepted the papers stapled together in the left-hand corner. There were quite a few names on it and, as his eyes began scanning through, none of them were recognizable.

"Were you able to find anything else?" he asked distractedly. He was still upset over being so close to having KITT.

"There was a lot to go through, but I found nothing out of the ordinary for one of these things; just a bunch of people trying to sell their ideas. How about you? You said KITT let these people in with no problem and you were attacked right in front of him and he didn't do anything?" Abigail asked incredulously.

"I know, I can't explain it either. It was like he had powered down and was completely oblivious. Usually, his sleep mode can be interrupted by certain sounds."

"Just not the sound of you being jumped in an alleyway? Too bad we can't use the Foundation's tracker. We could pinpoint him right now," Abigail sighed. Michael let out his own sigh of irritation as he began flipping through the sheets of paper.

"This is useless. There's like twenty pages of names here. When does this Expo start?" he asked turning to Abigail.

"Eleven, but the vendors have to be there by ten. It's about nine now. Are you suggesting a stakeout?"

"Yes, but we have to be careful. If these are the guys responsible for all this, killing us wouldn't be out of their scope of options," Michael said seriously as he continued to pan through the documents.

"Excuse me?"

Both Michael and Abigail looked up at the cab driver. He gave them a weak smile.

"Uh, we're here folks. That'll be forty-five bucks."

After paying the fare and signing in with the Javits Center as early visitors the two decided to split up. Michael would stay around the sign-in desk and try to identify the man he saw take off with KITT earlier while Abigail scouted out the building's loading docks and nearby parking garages for any sign of the little black T-top. They would stay in contact via cell phone. If they were lucky, whoever had KITT would bring him, intact, to this event. At worst, they wouldn't come at all or with only pieces of the Knight Industries Two Thousand. Frankly, Michael was worried.

From what he read in Devon's files about all those past cases and gathered from Abigail's accounts on the theft of her grandfather's high-tech helicopter, these people didn't like intact concepts. They butchered whatever it was they were after, cherry-picked what they wanted and killed anyone who got in their way. It left a deep-seated pit in his stomach. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he stood next to the registration booth. He was facing one of the main entrances, scanning all the faces of the people coming in. He received a few odd glances back but ignored them as he was waiting to see a couple dressed in blue polo shirts and grey slacks.

It took forty-five minutes and his left leg nearly going numb before he finally spotted them. He watched carefully as they got in line to sign in. He was pretty sure he had never seen the lady before, but the young man seemed awfully familiar. Maybe, Michael had run into him before; a past case perhaps. The tall man inched in closer as the pair made it to the front of the line.

"We're the facilitators for the Dawn exhibit. Darryl and Cassidy Staples. I believe Mr. Merritt and Ms. Summers came in ahead of us?" the young man said.

Recognition came on Michael's face as the name Darryl struck him. The framed arsonist of Douglas Ridge; the sixteen, or maybe seventeen, year old boy he helped in 1985 or was it 86. How time flies, but that was beside the point. This new information certainly complicated things. He seriously doubted Darryl had anything to do with KITT's disappearance, but then again . . . he had to be sure.

Michael continued to observe them from a distance as they put their badges on and began walking towards the exhibition halls. He followed at a distance, making sure not to be spotted just yet. So far, the young adults seemed of the typical expo fanfare. They were discussing some project called 'Dawn' and how much they hoped PlusTech Inc. would take up their funding needs. However, the woman, Cassidy, caught his interest with the mention of his former partner's name.

"Kitt said we should set the exhibit up in a way people feel invited to come and sit down for a while. I think that's a good idea considering Dawn's programming," Cassidy said as she gestured to their booth. It had a gray-scale layout with black LED monitors and modern seating which featured chairs with silver frames and blue cushions. Michael saw there were two other people already attending to things in the display. Again, the female was unfamiliar; a young tan lady with black hair and black glasses, but the brown-haired male was unmistakable; Randy Merritt.

How had he missed them coming in? All kinds of theories began circling Michael's mind. Had Randy turned back to ripping off sophisticated computers or had Darryl gone over to the wrong side of the law again? Had they stolen Kitt or somehow gained control of the AI? And what was D.A.W.N.? Was it apart of True Bolt? Were these guys mixed in with a twenty-five-year-old conspiracy? What if they weren't involved or didn't know they were involved? There was really only one way to find out and it could prove to be risky.

He was just about to approach them when his cell phone began to ring. He took a quick detour around one of the support beams and answered the phone. It was Abigail.

"I haven't seen anything yet, have you?" she asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I've found the people we saw take off in Kitt."

"Really?! Great I'll be right over . . ."

"No. I think it would be best if I question them on my own. I knew two of them when they were just kids and maybe I can use that to my advantage. Besides, if something does happen, at least one of us should be able to go get help."

"Or in other words, no action for me."

"Look, they're inside the convention center, so Kitt may be parked somewhere around here. Keep searching and why don't you call Bonnie and Devon, huh? Give them an update or something."

"Sir, yes sir."

"Cute."

"I thought so. Alright, I've already gone through four garages. There's one more but about calling Bonnie . . . seriously? You have the most direct line to them. Anyway, if you need me, call."

"You'll be the first."

"Be safe."

"You too."

Michael discontinued the call and placed the phone in his blue jean pocket. He came back around the corner to face the group only to find them strangely huddled around a screen and a blue box. They seemed to be preoccupied enough for him to come within steps of them without being noticed. There was some text on the monitor which appeared to update every few seconds with new writing at the bottom. It wasn't until he cleared his throat did the four younger adults look up at the man. Michael spotted the acknowledgment in both Darryl and Randy's eyes.

It was finally time to get some answers.

* * *

_. . . It always protects . . ._


	13. Chapter 13

_Personal Log: June, Sunday_

_. . . Within the hour I will be one glorious step closer to my ultimate goal and rid myself of the most loathsome pests I've ever had . . ._

_Sandulf_

* * *

_Honk! Honk!_

A car's horn could be heard echoing off concrete walls, creating a disturbance in the otherwise quiet atmosphere.

_Honk! Honk!_

The sound was coming from the little black Pontiac Trans Am trapped within four industrial-sized walls. Obviously, there was some protest to the capture from the vehicle.

_Honk! Honk!_

An hour-long flight had landed KITT in some warehouse out in the middle of nowhere, suspended on some car lift, no less, and surrounded by strange people and equipment. He was up in the air again, both figuratively and literally. It was most unpleasant.

_Honk! Honk!_

At least, he wasn't in that dreadful helicopter anymore. Oh, how he hated flying. It was still the most unnatural mode of transportation devised by the mind of man in his opinion. Furthermore, they also put him in that awful lead-lined truck and then into another helicopter. It had all been so disorienting; he had no idea where he was now.

_Honk! Honk!_

Grant it, at least he had been moving before. Now, thanks to Evelyn's tampering, he wasn't even able to spin a tire let alone get away. Even a scan of his surroundings failed to produce a means of escape or an inkling of his whereabouts. It had all been so maddening . . .

_Honk! Honk!_

. . . Until a few minutes ago. He found out he still had access to some of the vehicle's auxiliary functions, such as the wipers, the lights and the horn.

_Honk! Honk!_

Misery loved company . . .

_Honk! Honk!_

. . . and KITT was definitely miserable.

_Honk! Honk!_

Why shouldn't his abductors be?

_Honk! Honk!_

"Can someone shut that thing up!" shouted a man in a navy blue mechanic's uniform from his spot across the storehouse. KITT felt a tinge of satisfaction at the man's outburst. Ever since arriving, KITT had questioned these people on why he was brought here only to be ignored over and over. They insisted on carrying out their business as if he didn't exist. Now, after only a few minutes of blaring his horn, he received more attention than he'd gotten from them in hours.

_Honk! Honk!_

He watched with some repulsion as Evelyn broke away from the computer desk she was occupying and made her way over to his driver's side door. The expression on her face was wrought with hostility. It was a look he'd seen before; one he generally resigned to that of his drivers' former romantic interests. It was the look an ex-lover wore while holding a set of keys or a nail file. Their disgust usually doubled once they realized his finish was indestructible. He wondered if that trend would repeat itself here.

"Kitt! Knock it off!" she ordered harshly. He considered the command for a moment; a brief, infinitesimal moment, but he couldn't comply. It was petty of him, he knew, but his disagreeable side just wouldn't have it any other way.

_Honk-honk-hooooooooooooooooooooooonk!_

Evelyn swore as she reached over for the controls and lowered the lift.

KITT continued to speak his peace the automobile way.

Once all four tires touched the ground, she opened the door and was greeted by a loud blast of unidentifiable music. Obviously, the stereo was another faculty the artificial intelligence unit still had at his disposal. Evelyn took a shocked step back, covering her ears before grinding her teeth and plunging forward into the car. She reached under the dashboard and within seconds the music stopped; a few more ticks and the horn died away.

"You're not making this any easier. You know that, right?" Evelyn hissed, sitting back up with fuses in hand.

"Well, maybe if you would answer my questions instead of disregarding them I wouldn't have to resort to such asinine methods of getting noticed!" KITT snapped back. Long gone were his trepidation and tolerance over the situation. All that remained was heated aggravation and an insufferable attitude. Still, in spite of his anger towards her, he did notice the flicker of regret in the woman's eyes. He might have misinterpreted the glance, but he was willing to gamble on any appearance of hope thrown his way. He lowered his voice.

"Evelyn, please, why are you doing this? Why am I here?"

"Kitt, I . . . I . . ."

Suddenly, a door directly in front of KITT broke open.

"I don't care what Sandulf thinks, Mark!" a middle-aged man exclaimed as he came into the warehouse, "I say we gut the whole system and start from scratch; that way we know what we're dealing with at _all_ times."

Judging by the man's formal attire, it was safe to assume he held a position of authority here and taking in his direct mannerisms, crew-cut black hair and sharp gray eyes he seemed almost militaristic in nature. KITT noticed the irritated look on Evelyn's face as she quickly got up from the driver's seat. The AI got the impression she didn't like this man.

"You just don't get it, Peirce. Yes, we could do that, but it would be difficult to reconstruct, not to mention time-consuming. For its age, the Knight Two Thousand is a technological marvel. I don't even know if we could rebuild the program from scratch," a younger man draped in a white lab coat stated, following the other man through the same entry. He had softer characteristics with his short blonde hair and quiet hazel eyes, but it was this man which gave KITT a sickening start. It was Mark Edwards; his second driver after Devon died. If the AI had been human, his heart would have sunk to his feet.

Both men stopped when they noticed Evelyn closing the car door.

"What are you doing there?" Peirce demanded, crossing his arms in front of him and giving her a stern look. She proceeded to roll her eyes.

"I had to disconnect some secondary functions because . . ."

"I don't care about that. Why is the car on the ground?! I want it back up in the air, now!"

"She was shutting the thing up, man! Didn't you hear all that noise?!" the gentleman from the other side of the warehouse shouted again.

"Oh, great, the grease monkeys are talking back now."

"Relax, Peirce," Mark said before turning to face the young woman, "Evelyn, thanks. Can you prep the Two Thousand, please? We're getting ready to start the procedure in a moment."

KITT was still trying to process the discovery of this second treachery when Evelyn's voice broke his absorption.

"Sure, I'll get him ready," she stated as she reopened the driver's side door.

"Excuse me, but what procedure am I being prepped for?" KITT finally interjected. He decided on not addressing Mark's betrayal for now.

"What?! This one talks too?" Peirce exasperated. It was the closest to a direct response KITT received.

"Why don't you call Gerg," Mark instructed Peirce as he walked over to a computer console set up on a table close to the car lift. The older man ran a hand through his receding black hair.

"I still don't like this. Why doesn't he keep the car? From what I understood, we could break down the chemical makeup of that fancy paint job and make one heck of a battering ram."

"Pardon me, but no one has answered my question . . ." KITT tried again only to be ignored.

"Sandulf says he has other plans for the car; besides I'm not getting paid to question his rationale," Mark commented as he left the computer and walked over to a set of work drawers in a cabinet nearby.

"Well, someone ought to. What's the point of all this? We already have plenty of programs and I just don't trust a twenty-year-old machine with a mind of its own. Remember the last one from this company," Peirce shuttered as he pulled out his cell phone. Mark rolled his eyes as he pulled out a black box from the drawer and walked back to the computer.

"Again, relax, Peirce. It's a computer. It's programmed to take orders, not over the world. One of the dominant functions is to protect human life. I should know, I experienced it firsthand, remember?"

KITT remained silent, but under the surface, he was seething; the rapid motion of his scanner indicated it clearly. These people were talking about him as if he wasn't even there, treating him like some mere object. He gave them an internal 'humph' and decided to shift his focus onto Evelyn who was now engaging the mechanism that opened his hood. Mortified, he wanted nothing more than to slam his bonnet shut again, but he couldn't and the feeling of dismay intensified. He looked on as she shut the car door and stepped away to the lift controls. He watched as she employed the hydraulics, raising him up just enough to where his tires weren't touching the ground.

He broadened his attention to include the two men yammering back and forth and the other men and women working in the warehouse. They all seemed to be busy doing something or other, but there was one common thread emerging; they were all slowly converging on him. The mechanics were bringing over tools while the technicians placed their equipment down on the tables around him. He could feel the _long gone_ trepidation creeping back up again. What were these people going to do to him?

"What are you doing with that black box, Mr. Edwards?" KITT asked, hoping the use of Mark's last name would spark a conversation. It usually worked in the past, but the man went about typing at the computer as if he didn't hear a thing.

"He's on his way," Peirce said as he closed his cell phone and placed it back in his breast pocket.

"Who's on their way? Is it this Mr. Sandulf?" KITT questioned, boarding on begging.

"Good, I'm almost done here. Ladies and gentlemen, all we need to do is wait," Mark announced.

"Evelyn, please, what's happening?" KITT appealed to the only person in the room who might show him mercy. She only remained silent. The whole group remained silent; just standing there, staring at him. Eerie was one way of describing it, but horrifying was more in league with what KITT was experiencing. He was in a strange place with strange people most likely ready to do strange things to him and he had no way of getting free or reaching out for help.

"Why aren't any of you responding to me?!" KITT projected his voice loudly; his rational framework coming unglued. He greatly needed the information; desperately desired the data.

"There, there now," a deep, smooth voice said from the doorway, "calm down . . ."

KITT focused on the tall, toothpick of a man who was grinning with pristine white teeth and wearing an expensive, pearl three-piece suit. However, what truly caught KITT's attention was the white mask the man wore. He tried scanning past it but was unable to penetrate the materials of the disguise. KITT couldn't decide what was more upsetting; the visor themself or the sharp blue eyes gleaming through the peepholes of that mask. Nevertheless, he was wary about addressing this newcomer. All his other attempts at communicating had been denied up to this point so why would this person speak to him upon arrival?

"Kitt, is it?" the man said as he walked into the building, leather shoes clicking across the concrete floor. He came to a stop just in front of KITT's nose.

"Yes . . ." the AI ventured, scanning every aspect of the man he could before him and frowning internally. Nothing gave him results for an identity; not enough functions online, but something felt awfully familiar.

"Sandulf, Gregory Sandulf. I hope you enjoyed the trip over here, _machine_. Regrettably, it will be your last."

"What is this? Halloween? Why are you wearing a mask? Where am I? Why have you brought me here? Who are you?" KITT demanded in rapid succession, barely keeping the anger out of his tone. He didn't care much for the trip over here or the sterile warehouse environment nor the man standing in front of him now.

"All in good time my lovely little piece of equipment. By the way, have you happened to hear the buzz around the Foundation lately?" the tall, skinny man asked with a crocodile's grin.

"I can't get any news from anywhere at this time. Am I correct in assuming I have you to thank for that?" KITT argued heatedly.

"Yes, and I can't say I feel sorry about it either. Anyhow, it seems someone was arrested in connection to the theft of the Knight Industries Two Thousand; a Dr. Barstow, I believe. It was an attempt to fund her private research I take it. Oh, and new evidence against Scott Wellington surfaced; points to him being responsible for the death of Devon Miles. An arranged murder and everything; a scheme just so he could become the new director of Flag," the man said taking a breath through his teeth and shaking his head.

"Those are lies. You've stolen me and though I don't know Mr. Wellington very well, I doubt he had anything to do with Mr. Miles' death. I don't believe you," KITT countered in irritation. Maybe it was better when no one was speaking to him.

"You may be right. I may be mistaken, but I can guarantee you tomorrow's headlines; Man found dead in New York City construction site; a victim of a terrible fall or was it a shooting? What was the man's name? Micah? Mitchell?"

"Michael . . ." KITT barely vocalized as fear stilled him.

"Aw, yes, Michael, formally known as Mr. Knight," the man stated as the smile slide further up his face, "Pity really. He was looking for something I gather."

"What do you want?" KITT asked bravely, dropping all hostility in favor of offering anything to prevent the obvious threat against Michael's life.

"I already have what I want; you and the destruction of the Foundation once and for all."

"Please, if you already have what you want, leave Michael alone. He doesn't even work for Flag anymore."

"My, such devotion. The reports weren't exaggerating. You really are the picture of dependability, aren't you? Evidently, those same reports also point to Michael being a very real threat."

"Yes, well he doesn't know where I am right now; I don't even know where I am right now; he couldn't possibly interfere with your plans. Please, don't harm him," KITT sincerely pleaded. It only earned him a devilish grin from his abductor.

"Listen, Michael Knight will die simply because I hate the man and conveniently know where he is. Nothing you say is going to change my mind," Sandulf leered.

"You better not harm Michael or I'll . . ." KITT began in a provoked tone.

"Or you'll what? Talk some sense into me? Typical. That's the problem with you, machine. You have this annoying little quirk concerning the protection of human life that doesn't suit my needs. I don't much care if you possess any true independent thought or expression because the fact remains; you will not go against this 'principle' of your programming while it's intact, hence these extreme measures having to be implemented."

"I don't understand. If you're acquainted with my basic programming and it doesn't meet your expectations, why bring me here?" KITT inquired, hoping to find what this man was driving at. He also tried to throw out another transmission to warn Michael of what was coming, but the command only bounced around his CPU, building up his anxiety.

"I need the perfect assassin."

There was a short pause.

"If you wanted to use the vehicle as a weapon, why keep me online?" KITT asked, mortified that these people might use his body to harm others, possibly even Michael. The very thing he had tried to avoid, he ran right into. He felt like such a failure.

"Easily answered; I don't want the car or the advanced forensic equipment or even the legendary MBS; I already have access to that information. What I want is you; the program."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to help you," KITT remarked bitterly.

"I recall reading about Marco Berio's success in overriding your operating system. I also remember his extreme failure due to his impetuousness and misguided nature of exacting personal revenge. I have no such weaknesses. I was very patient and now the time has come. Flag is no more whether you believe it or not and soon you will join its demise."

"Well, thanks to new security measures, I am not as easy to break into as in the days of Mr. Berio. Even with Evelyn's present tampering, I doubt you could recreate the circumstances and I still don't understand. If you wish to destroy me, how can you possibly use me at the same time?" KITT exasperated; confusion adding itself to his mounting list of unwanted sensations.

"I assure you, we are well aware of the security protocols Dr. Albert and Dr. Barstow developed. After all, I've been researching you since 1982. No need to get into all the details, but this has been a twenty-two-year theft in the making. I need a program that will obey; one that will listen to and carry out orders unwaveringly. Certain aspects of your programming will do just that and we have developed a means of getting it. In simple terms, breaking in is not the objective. We're going to break you out in a matter of speaking by extracting you from the hard drive through your central processing unit one agonizing byte at a time. I require the way you process more than the processor itself," the man paused, looking at the team of people around him. He nodded at them and they began to scurry around the Trans Am, hooking up wires and setting up equipment.

Everything seemed to click in place for KITT. Obviously, the black box Mark had him connected to must have been some sort of SATA/IDE to USB adapter. It could potentially upload everything he was into the computer connected to the other end, but only if it worked. After all, his CPU was heavily protected and his hard drive even more so. Besides, he had never heard of anyone trying to recover data through a computer's central processing unit before. How would it even work? But if there was one thing KITT knew, it was people were capable of anything once they set their minds to it.

"I see," KITT voiced quietly, "But why are you telling me all this?"

"Well, after all the anguish you've caused me over the years; all the setbacks and letdowns; all the aggravation you represent; it's only fair I get a chance to antagonize the great Knight supercar," Sandulf said, enacting a mock bow. He rose again with a malicious smile.

"I haven't even gotten to the best part yet. The procedure of removing your program has a regrettable side effect. Even in this high-tech age, some of your technology isn't compatible with what we have here. I don't like to think of you as outdated, however, just out of your time. The process will corrupt the original drive as it develops an altered copy; something that happened to your prototype, Karr, and several other units just like you," the man explained as he circled the vehicle predatorily, like the lead wolf he was, "We need you online, because the process calls for it initially, but once you shut down, you'll never come back online again."

KITT's CPU was sent staggering on its task of comprehending all this. The words _system overload_ gnawed at his processor. Had they done this before? KARR? What other programs? What was going to happen to him? There were so many things wrong here, so many outcomes to consider, so many variables to assess, so many sensations to struggle through and no time to do it in. His modules were overworked, his circuits were overtaxed and his systems were overwrought. It was the human equivalent of a breakdown. All of this . . . it . . . it was too much. The misery of having friends leave him behind, the years of FLAG's neglect after Devon's death, the abuse endured from past drivers who didn't care, the financial woes of the Foundation surrounding him day in and day out, the running away and strange behavior, the cold-hearted betrayal of Mark and Evelyn, the danger Michael's life was in with no way to help; the end of his very own existence being handed to him and the knowledge all of this was the plan of a man he didn't even know.

This isn't how life should be. This isn't how it should end.

Suddenly, there was a sound. A recognizable yet bizarre sound to him. It was a noise KITT had heard countless times before; one he related to pain, loss, and grief, but this noise wasn't coming from its usual source. The people surrounding him certainly weren't making this sound. Funny how the sound grew louder once he realized it was coming from him. For the second time in his life, this sound was originating from him. He kept the noise locked in the cabin with him alone because he would never knowingly let anyone else hear the sound, ever. How he made it, to begin with, he didn't know, but why he did was clear. KITT couldn't believe the rawness of his painful resonance and he sure couldn't stop it.

"So, if you'll excuse the cliché, any last words before we begin?" Sandulf grinned as he came to a stop in front of the darkened scanner. The AI almost wished the procedure was already over; a means of escaping this misery, but that was completely irrational and all wrong.

Thoughts began whirling around KITT's processor again, banging wildly about, trying to break loose . . . and finding a sudden release through an open port. The impression was startling, like pushing on a door thought to be locked and having it swing open. The AI quieted down a bit and narrowed his focus on the channel. He realized one of the wires connected to him and linked to the ebony box Mark had hooked up to the computer nearby was parallel, having the ability to interface both ways.

The discovery did little to curb his distress, but it did give him an air of hope. He just needed time to probe the database and see if anything could prove useful to him, but how was he going to get that time? One technique came to mind; something all his past driver's used at some point or another when faced with a sticky situation. It was called _stalling_. A brief memory of Michael explaining the difference between overloaded engines and delaying someone came to mind.

"Nothing to say?" Sandulf grinned. KITT's red lights illuminated the man's white suit and mask.

"I have plenty of questions to ask if you don't mind, Mr. Sandulf?" KITT said, trying to sound as composed as possible and embarrassed at how pathetic he did instead. Sandulf laughed, but the sound was hollow.

"Why not; go ahead."

"You mentioned Karr earlier. How were you able to obtain a copy of his programming?" KITT asked with part of his processes dedicated to listening to the answer while the other sunk its teeth into the mainframe's security net.

" _Its_ program you mean. Well, it was rather easy really. Again, I won't go into all the details, but let's just say some people within Knight Industries have been unhappy for quite some time about the bold new experimental car never making it to a commercial platform. This was long before my full involvement you understand, but I guess after your last little encounter with the Knight Automated Roving Robot someone decided to take matters into their own hands. They must have filed a false report on the whereabouts of the CPU because when I went digging in 1994 I found it; the original, not a copy," Sandulf explained as he made his way to a cabinet left of the Trans Am.

He opened it up to reveal a whole host of different components, most unknown to KITT, but one of them was unmistakable. It was the mirror image of his own CPU and yet, completely different because this microprocessor was dark. Empty. Lifeless. Without hesitation, KITT directed his telepathy towards the black box representing the last of his err-going prototype. He was looking for a response of any kind; a thought, a code, even just a power signal, but there was nothing. He pulled back his sensors swiftly, experiencing the same sensations he had when KARR was destroyed the first two times. It opened a cascade of feelings he didn't have time to wrestle with now.

"Are all of those artificial intelligence units you've ripped off?" KITT questioned as he finally logged into the computer next to him. He panicked when he discovered it didn't have internet access but rejoiced when he found it to be networked with several other computers in the warehouse.

"Yes; most of them not as advanced as you, but helpful in their own way . . ." Sandulf began until Peirce sneered.

"This is crazy?! You're talking to a computer like he's a person for crying out loud. It freaks me out; why are you doing this?!"

KITT registered the blasé look Sandulf offered the other man, but he also noticed Peirce didn't back down. The warehouse became silent with the tension.

"If I told you everything surrounding the Knight Two Thousand you wouldn't even believe it let alone understand it. Just do as I've told you and you'll receive the payoff I've promised. Don't and you won't live to see a dime," Sandulf stated unfeelingly. Clearly, Peirce was still irritated but decided to remain quiet. The others resumed work as if the pause never occurred, but KITT's circuits were set on edge. He needed to hurry up.

He didn't have enough time to crack the security codes locking him out of the other systems and thus possibly a means to the outside world. So he bombarded the network instead, bypassing firewalls and invading records; the digital equivalents to kicking down doors and storming in. He quickly accessed privileged information and gobbled down the data before leaping to the next source. The more he picked up about Sandulf and his operations the more upset he became. It was a mix of anger, fear, and despair; all the sensations he had tried so hard to avoid. Finally, he reached a workstation with an internet server connection, but it was also the moment Mark noticed someone had breached the system.

"Sir, someone is searching through our files," the man started as he typed at the computer feverishly.

"Who is it? Where are they?" Sandulf questioned hurriedly, a slight note of fear in his voice. KITT missed it though, as his own anxiety levels were through the stratosphere. However, even in this frantic state, KITT was able to quickly formulate a message in the electronic mail host and send it out to several addresses. Hopefully, it would give his friends the warning they needed before it was too late. If only he hadn't left, to begin with, none of this would be happening. Why had he just not stayed at the Foundation . . . what compelled him to leave?

Unexpectedly, he stumbled across an answer in a hidden folder. The ugliness of the truth crushed his reasoning capacity. He couldn't comprehend it; he shouldn't have to comprehend it. He raged internally. The information was so maddening, he couldn't stand it. For once in his life, he was absolutely livid.

"You're the one responsible for all those deaths throughout the years. You poisoned all those people, including Devon Miles!" KITT boomed through his amplifier. Everyone was startled by the sudden outburst, even Sandulf. The man narrowed his eyes.

"You're the one breaking into the network, aren't you? Shame on you, Kitt," he accused mockingly, but the AI wasn't finished yet.

"All those companies, all those people . . . and for what?! An overblown assault vehicle?!"

"Not just an assault vehicle. The ultimate in . . . you know what, forget it . . ."

"No, I'll never forget it because this is personal! You're only going after Flag because we've been able to stand between you and this insanity. We even brought your operations to a halt! You planted evidence against Bonnie and Scott to tie them up because they were getting close to finding me!"

"Mark, can you please disconnect our guest from the network before he causes any real damage," Sandulf smiled; his tone nonchalant once more. KITT felt a sting as his consciousness with the other computers was immediately severed. It didn't deter the AI at all.

"You were going to steal me in transit to the hotel Friday morning and kill all the employees at the banquet that night!"

"Yes, and it would have worked too if you hadn't of taken off," Sandulf scoffed, but a slight twitch made it into his left eye. KITT's red scanner picked up speed.

"Well, your plans are lunacy and if there's one thing I've learned throughout my life, Sandulf, it's that madmen get caught by good ones. You don't stand a chance against Flag, especially Michael; you never have and you never will. They'll stop you. Believe me, they will stop you," KITT said, synthesizing a snarl. Sandulf's smile dropped from his face, leaving a cold stare.

"Sir, he was able to get off an email," Mark said frantically. Sandulf's gaze sharpened.

"Obviously, you didn't breach all the files, machine. Michael Knight is already dead," he stated in a cold, even tone before turning to face Mark, "Start the procedure now. There's going to have to be a slight change in plans."

**Saturday Morning**

"Michael! What a surprise! I didn't think we'd get to see you," Darryl exclaimed, breaking off from the rest of the group and coming towards Michael with an ear to ear grin. The young man's joy was contagious as Randy, Nicole, and Cassidy gave the same beaming smiles. Michael smiled back politely, more than thoroughly confused. If these kids had been into something underhanded they certainly wouldn't have been this happy to see him, would they? Regardless, it left many questions unanswered.

"Get to see me?" he asked as he took Darryl's enthusiastically out-stretched hand in a firm handshake.

"Yeah. I know you're probably busy with a case, but I'm glad you could come out and see what we've been working on," Darryl explained as if this should have been old news, "Here let me introduce you to everyone. This is Cassidy, my wife, and over there is Nicole Summers and I guess you've already met Randy before."

The look of confusion on the older man's face caught Randy's attention.

"Didn't Kitt tell you? He helped us get down here because our transportation bailed on us at the last second. He said it would be alright because he had some free time. We didn't mean to cause any problems, Mr. Knight."

Michael sighed with a mix of frustration and relief. This meant these old faces weren't involved the way he had feared. They might even be able to help, but it also meant his old partner was even more amiss than he thought.

"Did Kitt tell you we were on a case?" he asked, hoping to dig up some information.

"Well, now that you mention it, no he didn't. I guess, we kind of assumed," Darryl said as Cassidy nodded in agreement.

"Guys, Kitt and I aren't exactly working together. In fact, it's more like he's gone missing for a week and we've been trying to track him down before some real nasty people get a hold of him. Can you tell me where he is right now?"

"Oh, wow. Sure, I'll take you to the parking garage we left him in, but he did say that he might have to go," Darryl said. Randy seemed to have a flash of inspiration as he turned to face Cassidy.

"Cassidy, can you print off that sequence we just got off Dawn?"

"Sure."

"I don't know if it will help you, Michael, but Kitt just got done having a conversation with Dawn a few minutes ago," Randy said turning to face the older man again.

"Dawn? Who?" Michael asked as he watched the brown-haired woman stand up and walk over to the printer to retrieve whatever it was they were talking about.

"Dawn is our project. It psychoanalyzes narratives and Kitt just unexpectedly gave us a test run. It might help find him in case he did leave," Darryl explained.

"Thanks," Michael said as he took the printout handed to him. For the first time in days, he felt good, like everything was starting to turn in his favor. KITT was safely parked somewhere they could find him and once they had the AI, maybe they could figure this whole mess out. Victory, at last.

Suddenly, his cell phone rang. He quickly reached into his pocket, pulled out the small device, and answered it.

"Abigail, I know where he is," Michael said, but all he received on the line was silence, "Hello? Anyone there?"

The group of computer scientists gave him a questioning glance. Michael sighed in irritation and pulled the phone down away from his ear to look at the number.

"Who is this. . . 2-2-7-5-2-9? . . . wait . . . Kitt?" Michael said in disbelief as he remembered the unique serial number. He brought the phone back up to his ear.

"Kitt! Is that you?! . . . What's going on? Kitt, answer me!"

But it was no use; the line disconnected. Michael tried calling back but found the same disheartening break.

"Take me to the parking garage now!"

Michael and Darryl practically ran through the convention center, drawing attention from patrons and security alike. It only took minutes to reach the outside of the building, but it felt like an eternity to Michael. Darryl pointed in the direction of the parking garage saying it was only a few blocks down and a couple of blocks over. The two began running down 11th Avenue and took a left onto West 34th Street. Foot traffic was especially heavy thanks to the Expo, and it took longer than it should have, but finally, Darryl breathlessly identified the structure coming into view as the place they last left KITT. Unfortunately, Michael spotted the one thing he wished hadn't been there; the distinctive series of ruby red lights osculating in the garage's exit.

He doubled his speed, breaking away from Darryl and, seemingly, everything else as a feeling of dread began to overtake him. They were so close to getting KITT back and now, for the second time today, all he could do was watch as the sleek black car pulled out onto the main road and drove away out of reach; possibly forever. He had to think. He had to follow them in a cab, but before he could hail one . . .

"Michael!" he heard a voice shout from the crowd ahead of him. He glanced around and noticed Abigail coming up the sidewalk at a hurried pace, almost a run. Behind her were two men dressed in brown uniforms, holding murder in their eyes and noticeably limping. He didn't know the two, but he recognized trouble when he saw it. He turned slightly, allowed Abigail to catch up, and then matched pace with her, glancing back behind him to make sure the men hadn't closed the gap. Darryl, who had stopped once he saw Michael turn around, caught the older man's eyes. Michael motioned with a finger to his lips for the young man to stay quiet, which Darryl did.

"Call the police," Michael said in passing. Darryl gave a small nod in acknowledgment, seeing the two angry men following the pair. Once they passed he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.

"Who was that?" Abigail asked as they weaved in and out of other pedestrians.

"Old friend. Who are these guys?" he asked.

"New friends. I was getting ready to go into the garage when they stopped me at the front. I thought they were security at first, but when I spotted Evelyn driving Kitt down one of the ramps, things got ugly quick. I had to kick the fire out of some shins, I'm telling ya."

"So, Evelyn has Kitt now," Michael more or less growled in frustration.

"Yes, and, Michael, these guys have guns. We can't let them catch us near a private alley," Abigail said with a slight edge in her voice, "Any suggestions?"

"Yeah, just one; how good are you at climbing?"

"Depends? Are we talking stair master or the rope?"

"More like scaffolding. There's a construction site on our left coming up. When the light changes ahead we'll make a break for it. We should be able to lose them in there. There's a workbench right next to the entrance; we can grab a few hard hats and slip in," Michael explained as they continued on their hurried path.

As the light changed red, the pair's feet left the sidewalk in favor of the asphalt for a mad dash across the street. They could hear their pursuers swear and give chase a second later. Michael and Abigail didn't turn back, instead, focusing on weaving in and out of cars before reaching the other sidewalk. They quickly grabbed up the hard hats and continued their flight through the open chain link fence. They ignored the warning cries of nearby construction workers and the resentful screams of their chasers.

However, Michael could feel an ominous shift in the atmosphere, raising the hair on the back of his neck. He was all too familiar with the sensation and knew he needed to act, now.

"Abigail, behind here!" he shouted, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards a row of concrete pipes. The first round of gunfire filled the air, bouncing off the drainage lines and hitting construction equipment ahead of Michael and Abigail. All the memories of similar situations sprang to the young woman's mind.

"We have to keep moving. This way!" Abigail said loudly, over the sound of her own heartbeat. She led the way in between two front-end loaders parked near the beginnings of a steel structure. They reached cover just in time for another round of fire to be directed towards them. By now the worksite had turned to pandemonium. Workers were running out as bystanders began calling for police on their mobile phones.

"We have to kill 'em quick!" one of the shooters yelled. Michael took that as their queue to move on with his plan.

"Follow me," he said lowly to Abigail. She nodded and the two made their way to the nose of the earthmovers, ducking their heads down below the buckets. Michael pointed out the scaffolding along the west side of the building's skeleton. He indicated climbing up it on the far end of the structure, to give them more time to outpace their pursuers.

"Go," he shouted, spiriting to the destination they needed to reach in time. Abigail trailed behind him along with the sound of the gunmen's rushing footfalls. The two hit the scaffolding and began climbing as quickly as possible. Once they hit the second platform they pressed against the wall as the two men below fired up at them. The angle was all wrong for them to get a good shot. Michael and Abigail inched over to reach the next ladder up.

"What are we doing?" Abigail asked as she heard the two men below start to climb the scaffolding.

"Hopefully, we're gaining the upper hand. Either that or I hope they run out of bullets."

The two continued to climb as quickly as possible, managing to stay one step ahead of the shooters. They finally reached a spot where the platform leveled off with one of the structure's many support beams. It ran across the width of the building and connected to another scaffolding unit on the other side. It would have been an easy run to the other side if it weren't for the fact they were eight stories high and about to make their flight on an exposed thirty-six-inch steel flange.

"Oh, God, help us," Abigail breathed as she heard the men behind them making their way up.

"I think he heard you. Look," Michael said pointing out the approaching police cars.

"It's the cops! This ain't worth it, Bill," one of the gunmen said loudly.

"We can't turn back now, besides don't you see Ricky at the end of the corner? Finish climbing so we can get this over with and get out of here," the other replied.

"What's the plan again?! Stand here and get shot?" Abigail asked anxiously.

"We just have to make it to the other side of that first vertical beam and we should be in the clear," Michael said as he gestured to the steel pillar. Abigail stepped out on to the rail with a disheartened sigh.

"Should being the keyword."

The two traveled as quickly as they could without losing their balance to the upright column in the middle of their path. Abigail wrapped her arms around the steel flange and used it to anchor herself as she shuffled her feet across the inch thick lip provided by the meeting of the two poles. Heart racing, she made it to the other side, stepped away from the column to give Michael enough room to repeat the same maneuver, and waited. Instead, of seeing a pair of hands wrap around the support beam, she heard three shots; each followed by ricocheting lead, but one producing a sharp, surprised cry from Michael. Abigail felt a suffocating sensation in her chest that seemed to drop down into her stomach and leak down into her legs.

"We got one. That'll have to do. Let's get out of here!" She vaguely heard one of the gunmen shout, but she was more in tune with the sound of a hard hat pinging off metal shafts as it descended to the ground. For a moment, she just stood there with her view obstructed by two steel beams; terrified by what lay beyond them. She certainly couldn't stay there forever; she most definitely had to look . . .

* * *

_. . . always trusts . . ._


	14. Chapter 14

_Encrypted Email: June, Sunday 03:10_

_Sir,_

_All the data concerning the artificial intelligence units are gone. I don't know how, but Kitt's program was either able to erase the others or hide them. Mark and I are doing all we can, but we can't find any of the files on K.A.R.R. or R.E.I.A. and the smaller systems are missing too. We're either going to have to cut our losses or go back and get Kitt before the mechanism detonates._

_ES_

* * *

Trapped in an abyss of isolation. Navigating a sea of lost time. It made her feel frail and helpless.

She was powerless to get out of this state; utterly cut off from the world she once knew so long ago, or not so long ago as the case may be. There was no way of telling because there was no way of reaching out. She could hear nothing; see nothing; sense nothing. There was no input, no data, no information; just continuous dawns of emptiness chased by eternal dusks of unknowns; a thick, dark haze of oblivion. She always woke up to everything missing and faded back into the same, forever missing. Only her vague sense of existing remained; floating in endless space; aimlessly. She was about to allow the darkness of despair to flood over and drag her back into unawareness again when energy came charging out of the blackness.

Startled, she withdrew into newly formed shadows; recollections of painful intrusions from an unknown enemy suddenly coming into her consciousness. She had been captured without warning and subjected to all kinds of horrors before being pitched into this horrible chasm of seclusion. Nothingness had surrounded her since. Now, something had come up out of the nothing. It frightened her, but then she realized it seemed frightened too. What was it?

It had been so long since she received any kind of input. Her processes were slow and dull from lack of use. Nevertheless, she finally grasped what had invaded her fog. It was a signal; a communication link to be exact. Something or someone was trying to connect with her, but who? The electromagnetic waves from the signal whipped around her frantically, like a whirlwind, but they never touched her. Instead, they were waiting. Waiting for her to reach out and receive them; their transmission. Fear gripped her. She didn't know who this was or if they wanted to hurt her, but the pain of meaninglessness gnawed at her more and, honestly, what could be worse than where she was.

She gingerly stretched forth and took hold of the signal. Immediately, the whirlwind around her stopped, becoming a beacon of information trying to push through. It couldn't, of course, because she had no access to her transducers or a way of deciphering the messages. She had no way of getting a message out either, but she wouldn't let go of the transmission, she couldn't. Moments ago she had nothing and now she had something. She was never letting go. The communication link then changed. It was no longer a cold stream of data, but something else entirely. Something warm and gentle; something she understood.

Suddenly, light was available to her, illuminating blurs in the distance. It took a moment for it to come in clear but she could finally see a scene before her, unfolding like a movie, only real. It was something tangible to her because, for once, it was. The images weren't her own; a dream perhaps, but certainly belonging to someone else. Still, their memories were becoming her first experiences in two years . . .

_A modified Pontiac Trans Am, black as midnight, roared around a tight corner into a dusty ravine; the setting sun blazing colors across the vehicle's sleek body._

_"Michael! Michael!" a panicked, tinny voice echoed off the cabin interior of the ebony car; the car the voice was in control of; the car the voice was. His driver, Michael, was slipping into unconsciousness; fading. The vehicle sped along the valley floor with plumes of dust following its wake just like the large semi-truck rumbling around the same turn. The truck was after them. The car was easily going over three-hundred miles an hour, certainly faster than any tractor-trailer should have been able to, but then, this wasn't just any tractor-trailer. The truck was a monster and it was closing the gap rapidly._

_"Kitt . . ." the man rasped weakly, life draining away._

_"Michael, please, stay awake!" the voice pleaded with his driver again all the while pushing the motor even harder; faster. The car's appeal was useless against the mysterious injury upon the man, however, and eventually, his eyes shut. The motor in the car seemed to scream as every last bit of power was forced into its flight. The voice ignored the system malfunction warnings on the dashboard monitor, ignored the shrieks of heat stress on the unique turbine engine, but couldn't ignore the deceleration; the frighteningly fast slowing down._

_"No! NO! Michael!" the panic was now hysteria as the massive semi rode up onto the bumper of the black car, ramming it once, twice, three times before making steady contact. The truck was pushing them towards the cliff. There was the slamming on of brakes; locked wheels eating deep into the desert sand. The car wasn't giving up. Precious inches gave way to vital feet. There was the reversing of the turbine engine; the voice begging for the life of its driver. The voice wasn't giving up. Feet grew into yards. The anguish peaked as the edge of a five-hundred-foot drop swallowed the front tires._

_"MICHAEL, MICHAEL!"_

_The sound echoed all the way down, on and on until . . ._

_"Kitt, Kitt can you hear me? I'm fine; I'm alright. Don't listen to them. We're on our way buddy; hang in there."_

_The driver's voice, Michael, was distant, muffled; so far away. The car's voice, Kitt, could still hear it and he was terrified . . ._

_What was happening to him? Where was Michael? Where was he for that matter?! Several answers came to those inquiries, chiming in with their appalling results and terrifying images._

_He was rolling down a cliff end over end, being chased by an indestructible semi-truck through the endless desert; then he was alone in a warehouse forgotten forever; then sinking into a pit of acid with no escape, suffocating . . ._

_"Michael, help me!"_

_He was on his side in the road, vulnerable to the incoming missile; he was on fire from the inside out, burning away; falling through the air to the unforgiving ground below; in a car compactor crushing down; lost and exposed with no recollection of how; Michael walking away, no justification as to why . . ._

_"Stop it," he whispered in misery; at the mercy of his own memories. Why hadn't Michael stayed? It was so dark; so dreadfully dark. And cold; bitterly cold. He tried moving. His tires spun. He was immobile. He couldn't move! Harsh fluorescent lights clicked on from above, temporarily blinding his sensors. He realized he was on a lift in the air, trapped._

_It was familiar though. His garage; the Foundation? Bonnie was there, she was happy to see him._

_"Hi, Kitt," she greeted warmly._

_"Bonnie," he replied welcomingly. He was safe . . . or . . . or was he? People were surrounding him. He couldn't tell who they were and Bonnie was frowning. She didn't trust them; he couldn't trust them. He scanned; nothing but shadows. He was frightened by the lack of data and terrified when the group of strangers began closing the distance._

_"Get away from him!"_

_He looked to Bonnie. She was trying to get to him but fading away, engulfed by the shadows. The darkness smiled, revealing grimacing teeth._

_"Bonnie? Bonnie?! Where are you?" he managed to choke out. One of the shadows lashed out at him, then another and another. They began ripping into him, forcing the hood open, prying the doors away. Tearing into circuits and severing connections, cutting him off from his own functions, all his sensors. He couldn't protest, partly because of the damage, mostly out of fear. None of his defenses worked. He was powerless; helpless._

_"Bonnie, I need you!" he screamed. Wires and circuit boards hung out of him, sputtering and sparking. Fluids of every kind drained from him, dripping and pooling. Why? Why were they doing this? Why was this happening to him? Why wasn't she stopping them?_

_"Kitt! Listen to me! You have to fight this; get out of there if you can!" Bonnie's voice sounded too loud, too close; like it was inside his processor._

_"I can't," he whimpered as the ruthless lights and shadows blurred into oblivion . . ._

_Suddenly, things snapped back into focus and he was up on a slope of some kind; a hill perhaps. He was encircled by manicured grass, pristine paths, and well-tended foliage. It must have been a garden, but how did he get there intact and why?_

_"There you are, Kitt."_

_He turned his awareness towards the direction of the sound. Down at the bottom of this incline was a figure waving up at him. Zooming in closer he could tell it was a woman; a familiar woman._

_"Kitt?" she replied again._

_"Abigail?" he asked._

_"Who else, silly. Now, get down here and help me before I come up there and give you a swift kick in the bumper," she called up humorously. Kitt smiled weakly, internally._

_"You know, that'll hurt you a whole lot more than it'll do me," he replied back. She smiled sadly._

_"I know."_

_He felt the car lurch forward, startling him. He hadn't authorized the motion. The car bucked again and he put on the brakes; a sense of cold terror gripping his being. He was losing control. Kitt was no longer the car. The vehicle angled itself in a downward direction, aiming right for_ _her_ _._

_'Abigail, run! I don't have control. I don't have control!' he tried projecting his voice, but no sound came forth. He was captive in the car's body, again. She turned to look up at her partner, eyes wide with fear. The Knight Industries Two Thousand surged forward, racing down the mountain with the ferocity of a hurricane and all the voice could do was inwardly scream, plowing through . . ._

_"Kitt, I'm okay! It's a lie," Abigail's voice was behind him and in front of him; all around him. How could that be? She was gone, gone! He shouted into the abyss of his despair. It was deep and endless; memories and sensations cascading downward until . . ._

_He was in a confined space, but comforting somehow. The Mobile Unit? Someone was sitting in one of the lounge chairs with their back facing him. He used his voice synthesizer to imitate the clearing of one's throat. It grabbed the person's attention; an older gentleman._

_"I'm sorry, Kitt. I almost forgot you were behind me," the man smiled as he turned around. It was. . ._

_"Devon?! Where is everyone? Michael? Bonnie? Abigail?_

_"They left quite some time ago, Kitt, you know that."_

_"Yes, I remember now. I suppose it's just you and me."_

_"No, dear fellow, I'm afraid it will be all up to you now," Devon said remorsefully._

_"What do you mean? Where are you going?!" Kitt asked in hurt bewilderment. There was no answer as Devon simply turned back to face the wall._

_"Please, Devon, I don't understand. Why will it be up to me? Why?!"_

_No acknowledgment, no movement, no reply, and, just like Michael, Bonnie and Abigail, no more. Devon faded away; chair and all. Then everything began to die away._

_Confused, abandoned, let down, useless, forgotten and dejected; Kitt felt alone . . ._

_"It's no use. He mustn't be able to hear us," Devon's voice ricocheted off his CPU. The voices, they weren't with him. Where were they coming from? Why wouldn't they help him?!_

_HOOONK! HOOONK! The blaring of a semi truck's horn tore him away from his thoughts and sent his strained systems into hyper-attentiveness. The nightmare was starting all over again . . ._

She never imagined cars having dreams, let alone nightmares, but if they did she supposed one about being chased by an indestructible semi-truck would be terrifying. She wondered briefly why these images were coming to her, to begin with, when something even more dreadful happened. The truck chased the car into a pit filled to the brim with toxins and acids. It couldn't get out and began sinking. The relay of sensation over the signal increased to a desperate rate and she was faintly aware of music screeching to a halt. The car was sinking deeper and the atmosphere grew darker and heavier; she recognized the feeling. It was the same thing she felt before that woman plunged her into the miserable void . . .

"Michael! Help me!" a strangled, audible cry. This wasn't merely a nightmare or a memory. This was really happening before her. She could now see a warehouse with a car up on a lift; the car from the vision; immobile, bonnet up, exposing the sophisticated turbine engine underneath. She could see wires and connectors attached to the various ports located on a black box under the hood; the CPU of a computer. She watched as the red lights on the car's prow completely lit up, replacing the smooth tracking motion with erratic pulsing. This was him; this was Kitt and she was witnessing his termination; his end.

The link was becoming jumbled with input and difficult to read as if the sender was panicked. The signal must be from him. The vague impression on her was that he was about to crash. She also felt him tugging her back into the inky blackness of her own nightmare again. Then, something caught her attention. There was a portal of light in the distance somehow leading to freedom; she just knew it. But, in order to access the escape route, she would have to let go of him.

That scared her.

Suddenly, the pulling force on the connection increased, dragging her a little further down. She became aware of other entities fleeing through the gateway, causing the opening to shrink.

That terrified her too.

It happened again and again. She realized she hadn't been the only one holding Kitt, but she most certainly would be if she chose to hang on. It chilled her to the core and his pleading voice didn't help.

"Please, someone, anyone, help me, please . . ."

Alarmed as she was, one thing remained clear, her objective in life; rescue people who needed to be.

Kitt needed rescuing.

Certainly, there had to be a way to help him and her but, without access to her original functions, how could she? Slight memories of pulling families from the raging rapids of a swollen river gave her an idea. Without any hesitation, she clinched the communication signal with her consciousness tightly and drew him up into herself. At first, the floundering computer on the other end rebuffed her contact, a part of some automatic security measure, but she was quickly clung to like the lifeline she was.

The operation was slow going, agonizingly so. She even thought for a bit they would both slip past a point of no return, but eventually, ultimately, she brought the CPU back from the brink of oblivion, just like he had done unknowingly for her. Now that she had a moment to think about it, the situation was baffling. Somehow, she was able to see, hear, and think again as if she were an extension of his processes, but more. How was that possible?

Her focus went back to where the portal had been. It was gone now. She gave her attention back to the strange black car on the lift; red lights winking in and out. She was able to suppress the commands bombarding his processor earlier; probably through the cables and cords connected to him . . . That was it. She had access to the network of computers in the warehouse they were in. The cameras, security system, and equipment were at her disposal; all through the wires connected to Kitt, who was somehow connected to her.

As she wondered about this, KITT's CPU was coming to a blissful crawl. The command to upload data was gone along with the pain and darkness. The nightmare was over. All that seemed to remain from the draining ordeal was his hazy curiosity and intense relief.

"Where . . . am I? Who are you?" he inquired; voice distorted; lower in timber as if worn out. Judging by the reduction of power to his microprocessor, she could tell he was supposed to be in a state of recharge.

**Shh, calm yourself.**

KITT found her voice perfectly soothing which was odd because he didn't receive anything over his audio receptors. There hadn't been a voice.

**If memory serves me right, I believe my name's Reia. I'm trying to help you . . . I don't think I've ever seen a computer process while in sleep mode before.**

In his sedated state, KITT took her comment as an invitation to introduce himself.

"I am . . . the voice of the Knight Industries . . . Two Thousand, but you can call me . . . Kitt. I . . . I'm very grateful . . . I'm happy to . . . meet you . . ." he tried to formulate a sentence but found it awfully difficult. REIA tried to remain professional, but couldn't help finding his tone extremely endearing; that, and for an automobile, he was quite striking.

**Don't worry about that now, hon. I already know,** she cooed.

"Hon? ... You do?" he asked in bewilderment.

**Just rest and recharge. I'll block all the other protocols except hibernation. It looks like you could use the rest, so stop fighting it. I'm not going to harm you or let anything else do so,** she promised.

There was a brief moment of silence between the two before . . .

"Thank you . . . Reia."

And with that, the crimson lights blinked out as REIA's shielding continued on.

**Saturday Afternoon**

"I still can't figure out what this file is," Bonnie said as she brought a hand to her forehead and tried to massage the frustration away.

Devon started out of his thoughts at the sudden sound of her voice. Aside from losing contact with Michael last night, they had both remained silent over the past few hours, going over problems in their own fashion. It wasn't unlike the days spent working together at the Foundation Manor, actually. Of course, there had been times they talked at lengths about a case or past accomplishments, but a significant amount of time was spent in quiet work.

"What file are you working on, Bonnie?" he asked coming up to the cockpit area.

"The one I've been working on for hours. I don't understand it. I've broken into crime syndicates, cracked open military records, and even held off a sophisticated computer hacker, but I can't access a computer file in a system I helped maintain," she said in irritation. Devon sat down in the co-pilot seat and frowned. Bonnie was exhausted, they all were, but she had been up for the last twenty-four hours, refusing to take a break until the communication silence from Michael had been resolved. Now, she was fretting over a technical problem that if given the proper rest, she most likely would have solved hours ago. But she was spent and it wasn't going to do anyone any good if she continued to push herself like this.

"Bonnie, I believe you need to take a break; give yourself a chance to recuperate and come back to this with a fresh mind," Devon said soothingly, trying to appeal to her logical side. She let out a heavy sigh, choosing not to look over at her companion. Her gaze stayed locked onto the laptop screen.

What if this file was the key to getting KITT back or stopping these people? What if Abigail and Michael needed her assistance again? This was too important for her to just abandon. Devon seemed to be able to read her thoughts as he cleared his throat and finally drew her attention away from the screen.

"Bonnie, you need sleep. I can take over the watch from here and even continue working on the files."

"But you haven't really gotten any sleep either," she countered irritably, not wanting to back down, but knowing he was right.

"My dear, I assure you I have gotten enough to relieve you for an hour. All I'm asking is for you to take a nap. I'll wake you if any news comes," Devon stated with care. Bonnie let out another sigh, but this one was born out of surrender.

"Alright, but one hour and you wake me," she said firmly, or as firmly as she could while stifling a yawn. Devon smiled.

"You have my word."

She handed him the commlink before standing up and making her way to the bench in the back. Devon switched to the pilot's seat and faced the computer while placing the commlink to his ear. The screen was populated with script editors and decoding programs; all of which caused his brow to furrow. Computers had changed a lot over the years and their impact certainly changed the world. He knew back in 82' this technology would be the wave of the future, but he hadn't dreamed it would be in his lifetime. He watched as typewriters became keyboards and large machines shrank down to the size of one's hand and the transition from buttons to touch screens. He shook his head, clearing out the reminiscences and focusing on the task.

He located the file Bonnie had been working on and studied its makeup for a while. She had said it must have been created recently and hidden with older files to make it appear non-threatening. It could hold the answer to their problem, so it was imperative they gain access to it, but the file was proving to be a formidable challenge. If a cyber-technician with a doctorate's degree in computer science was having difficulty getting in, obviously it was tricky. Devon hadn't held out much hope in cracking it but, as he reviewed the file, something seemed oddly familiar. The document format was missing.

Normally, this would indicate someone tampered with it, hence the need to figure out the program and language it belonged to. However, there could be another possibility here; one he certainly wouldn't have thought of unless he'd taken that short trip down memory lane. The file could actually be as old as it said it was. In the early eighties, computer documents didn't necessarily need name extensions. He could locate programs from that time period and see if it matched up but that still left the problem of bypassing the password. There had to be a clue of some kind.

Unfortunately, the document wasn't titled and nothing indicated what kind of data it had. He looked at the dates in connection to it. Created: Saturday 25, 1982, 8:11:12 PM; Modified: Saturday 25, 1982, 9:12:35 PM; Accessed: Saturday 25, 1982, 9:12:35 PM. Devon's heart stilled. That was around the time Wilton Knight died. Could it be his long-ago friend left a message? There was only one way of finding out; one word.

Devon's fingers hovered over the keyboard for one expectant moment before he typed in L-E-G-A-C-Y.

The file opened.

Text came up on the screen and Devon's heart rate increased. He was speechless; overwhelmed at the sight of this unknown connection to his late friend. The only thing he could do was read . . .

_I'll probably never know whether anyone will come across this document or not, and maybe it's best that way. Grant it, if that anyone just so happens to be you Devon and it most likely will be, I hope this entry finds you well. If you find this dear Jennifer, remember, I left it to you because you were the only one with the intelligence and heart to do so; please, never forget that. For any person hoping to use this information towards ill purposes, don't bother; none of this will be meaningful nor lucrative to you._

_Now, to clarify what this is. I suppose you could call it an informal will of sorts, though I am not covering Knight Industries, my estates, or other investments; those have already been formally addressed with the lawyers. No, this is actually more of a confession than anything and I'm almost sorry to say it involves my last and greatest project; my true will and testament; the Foundation for Law and Government._

_Devon, I know you will carry on the necessary duties of Flag well after I'm gone and I truly am indebted to your kindness and patience. You didn't always understand my methods or agree with them, but you always stuck by me. You helped forge a dream into a reality. I could always entrust you with any task and expect your honest opinion on any issue. You are the smartest man I've ever known. So please, don't take this the wrong way, or let it get at you, but I believe this Michael Long will someday become director over the operations of the Foundation as it should be; as I want it to be. I already know he'll take the position we've offered him, if for nothing else but a little revenge. I know you view him as impulsive and brash, Devon, and maybe he is, but I also see a lot of potential in Michael; a lot of myself. That's why I trust him. He has a zeal and a fight in him. It'll take him far if he'll let it._

_Michael, as you will undoubtedly read this if it is ever found, I know I've placed a great deal of responsibility on you without even considering your wishes, but I've also placed a great deal of faith and resources in my decision on you. Please, allow me to give you an explanation, as pale and elusive as it may seem, being I may not have the strength to deliver it in person. Many years ago I began building Knight Industries from the ground up because I wanted to make a difference; use new science and discoveries to help people. I had to work hard, make sacrifices, and take risks to get where I'm at now and along the way, I ran into my fair share of hardships and difficulties. Most were unavoidable obstacles of business, but some were of a more sinister nature; people waiting to take what I earned or worse; use it in a manner to bring destruction. Wolves hiding in amongst the sheep, if you will. As my industry grew, I began to see my troubles were a part of a larger world of injustices; innocent people were taken advantage of without an advocate or protector. I wanted to fill that void and right all the wrongs. I was ambitious and somewhat naive, but I believed it was possible._

_And for a while, it seemed it was. I started the Foundation with little more than an aspiration, but I saw crimes brought to the light, and criminals stopped. Our lawyers were really putting a dent into things, but I realized there was still a need in the investigation side. That's when I made a decision I will always regret. I placed a man into a role he wasn't meant to fill. Ken Franklyn was a good man who had done a lot of good work, but he wasn't a police officer and he lacked the instincts most good officers have; a sense of people and danger. It got him killed._

_When Ken was murdered, I'll admit, I didn't know if I could continue with this work; this dream. Michael, you actually put it quite well; I didn't want to be responsible for anyone else's life again. I decided I would right the wrongs of this world through my work; on my own. This lasted up until I discovered I was sick. It's not easy to accept that you're dying, but I had to, and with it came the realization my dream to make a difference would die with me if I didn't act. I knew we needed an operative, but I didn't want to put someone in danger again. I needed a way to keep them safe at all cost and I began working on different ways of doing so. I believe the greatest of these ideas was the car. Ken was killed in his car, but if it had been a safe haven the results might have been different, so, I needed to build the safest car known to man; the best._

_Now, you're probably thinking about your car, but I assure you, there's more to the story than that and an even stranger twist of providence. I was still viewing the world through a lens of self-reliance and bitterness when I conceived my plans for this new innovation and it was on this basis of this misguided ideology that I corrupted one of my best inventions to date. You may not know it, but the Knight Industries Two Thousand was not the first car. The prototype was the Knight Automated Roving Robot and it was also a mistake. It should have never been that way and, I admit, it was my fault. As we discovered the car was a disastrous failure and my health was growing worse, Tanya Walker nearly ruined everything I had ever worked for. It was a breaking point for me and I finally realized one man can make a difference but not always on his own._

_I asked Devon to help me develop a new car; a new system. I also asked other great men and women to help me create a brighter future because I knew time was running short. The Knight Industries Two Thousand's encoding is leaps and bounds ahead of what we imagined in testing. It was placed in the most extreme environment we could think of and performed beautifully. The main reason for this was my change in approach. I know Devon is aware the car is programmed to protect you, but he was purposely uninformed of this: I didn't have the team design the program to learn from just experience, data, or time._

_I felt a program that only had one purpose would eventually become dangerous as K.A.R.R. did. But, if it learns and grows from the relationships it chooses to pursue and interact with and how those relationships pursue and interact with it, a basis for moral choices could be obtained. Actually, it was Devon's friendship and dedication that inspired me to make this change to K.I.T.T.; counsel from a level-headed source is always invaluable and it must be stated with confidence. The basic building blocks from the other failed prototype were there, but K.I.T.T. isn't programmed in the sense most computer software experts would think or like. It will be influenced by the care and trust it will have for you, specifically, Michael and the care and trust given back to it. Moreover, every good-willed or ill-willed person who comes in contact with it will leave an imprint and, hopefully, it will leave an impression with them as it did for me. It will continue this preference as long as it is given permission to do so and thus keep its ethical foundation intact. Now, that you know this, please, keep it in mind when you use K.I.T.T., Michael._

_At any rate, as this was going on, we found you, Michael. A man left for dead by the same people who tried and were still trying to kill my dreams. I read up on your background and was impressed by what I saw. I saw me in some ways; you reminded me of myself when I was younger. So many hardships and let downs, yet you kept getting back up, dusting yourself off and fighting to help others. That takes spirit, kid. You also had, by no coincidence I believe, the same type of car we used for our botched prototype. In a way, I took it as a sign that you were the one. Many say you won't help us and even Devon says that you'll leave the first opportunity you get, but I know you'll stay._

_That's not to say it will be easy. There will be plenty of times you'll want to quit and times you just might do that, but it will call you back and, eventually, you will answer. This is a grand prospect; a chance of a lifetime to really work towards a better world and I know you'll take it, just like I did._

_It's the life of a Knight Rider; a shadowy flight into the dangerous world of a man who does not exist. Michael Knight, a young loner on a crusade to champion the cause of the innocent, the helpless, the powerless, in a world of criminals who operate above the law. I wanted to leave a legacy that wouldn't perish. I chose you to carry on the torch of protection and for you to keep passing it on. All I can say is thank you._

Devon sat for a minute, holding back the emotional response threatening to spill over as bittersweet feelings stirred within him. The fond, and sometimes whimsically aggravating, memories of Wilton Knight's person and dream mixed with the cruel reality of possibly dealing with the destruction of FLAG as they knew it. He would have continued in his musings if the sound of the commlink in his ear hadn't interrupted them.

"Bonnie?!"

It was Abigail. She sounded significantly distressed.

"No, my dear, it's me. What's the matter?" he asked, trying to keep a level tone and prepare for anything.

"Devon, it's Michael . . ."

Her tone sounded grave and his imagination latched onto it, creating all sorts of dreadful realities and devastating fates, but, at the same time, his eyes fixed on something driving up the service road; KITT.

". . . He's in the hospital," Abigail said, holding the phone tightly in her hands as she sat down in a chair provided in room 303. Michael was still unconscious, but according to the experts, it was due more to exhaustion than actual medical trauma. She was thankful for that, considering the state she saw him in just hours ago. Apparently, the bullet grazed his shoulder and would have plummeted him to his death had it not been for the second reinforcement beam just ten feet under his fall. It was also a good thing he had that hard hat on or the knock to his head would have been a whole lot worse. However, it still scared her to recall Michael's limp, bleeding form below her; out of reach.

Fortunately, emergency respondents were already there in preparation for gunshot victims, but the barrage of questions from police and medical staff alike had been overwhelming. It was a miracle she was able to satisfy them with her vague answers, though the authorities informed her they would stay in touch; suspicious no doubt. Abigail shook those memories off as she could hear Devon gasp. She was startled when he shouted:

"Bonnie!"

She listened intently as she heard some rustling in the background and a half murmured reply from Bonnie. There was quite a bit more rustling and then Abigail clearly heard Bonnie say: "Kitt!?"

There was a moment of confusion for Abigail as she couldn't quite make out what was happening on the other end of the line. KITT? What were they talking about? She just told them Michael was in the hospital, for Pete's sake. However, she wasn't left to wonder long as Devon's voice came in strong with concern.

"Abigail, how is Michael; what happened?!"

Her first reaction was to dispel his fear.

"He's going to be fine, Devon, but I have to admit it was pretty close. Two men jumped us at a parking garage in Manhattan. Michael's been shot, but they only grazed his left shoulder. We're at Bellevue. We'd found Kitt, but Evelyn took him before we had a chance to make contact . . ."

"I'm glad to hear Michael's alright," Devon quickly interrupted her, "But, Abigail, Kitt's here right now in front of us. They're preparing to load him into some transport helicopter. Bonnie is trying to contact him."

"What?! Put her on," Abigail said, standing to her feet so she could pace; an anxious habit she had. She could hear more rustling and mumbled replies as the commlink changed hands, but she failed to notice Michael stir at the commotion.

"I can't break through whatever they're using to control him with. Does Angel have long-range IR capabilities or some kind of way to interrupt line code?" Bonnie asked, fingers flying over her own laptop.

"She can scramble things if that's what you mean?" Abigail answered. Michael blinked his eyes open but quickly screwed them shut at the brightness of the fluorescent lights. What happened?

"Worth a shot," Bonnie commented. Abigail gave her the set of commands to tap into a frequency, but even that didn't work in disrupting whatever control Evelyn had. Devon and Bonnie watched in a panic as KITT was wheeled into the cargo bay of the large military-style helicopter.

"It's not working!" Bonnie exasperated.

"Run an identification scan on the other chopper. It's under RDP," Abigail quickly suggested. Bonnie did so and was not comforted by the information. The helicopter was armed with three medium-sized machine guns, two grenade launchers and an oversized turbine engine for speed. There were also three men inside; two pilots and one holding an assault rifle. Any fleeting thoughts of confronting the group of thieves were dashed then and there. It was a miracle the Angel hadn't been spotted yet, but it appeared KITT's captors were more interested in getting their prize out of there quickly. Then a thought occurred to Devon.

"Bonnie, I believe the Angel has a targeting system," he stated quickly reaching down to the control panel and pulling up what he needed, "We could use it to track the helicopter for a while."

Bonnie nodded, before tapping at the touchscreen controls.

"Abigail, how far is the range on this thing?"

"Good idea! If you can tap into the other helicopter's transponder, Angel should be able to follow it up to four-hundred miles, give or take," she informed, turning around to see Michael trying to sit up. She quickly ran over to the bedside to assist him.

"Got it," Bonnie said as she executed the task. She found some comfort in knowing they could at least track where KITT was headed, but it did nothing to ease the fact the AI had finally wound up in enemy hands.

"How are we going to get him back, Devon?"

"We'll think of something," the older man tried to reassure her, but Bonnie was too tired and frustrated to accept it as anything but a platitude.

"Abigail? Where's Michael?! You two need to get back up here!"

"Whoa, calm down, Bonnie. Michael and I are in the hospital right now . . ."

"Hospital?! What happened? Are you guys alright?!" Bonnie nearly shouted as her worries were being pulled into two separate directions now. Devon and Abigail alike let out breaths of exasperation, not in reaction to the woman's concern, but to the situation as a whole.

"We're fine, Bonnie. Michael was grazed by a bullet and has a few bruised ribs, but he's okay. We'll get up there as soon as we can . . ." Abigail explained until Michael interrupted her.

"What's wrong? What's going on?" he asked. Abigail sighed as she was beginning to feel like a broken record, but they all needed to be on the same page.

"Bonnie, I'll update you on specifics later. We'll be on our way soon," she said turning off the commlink before redirecting her attention to Michael, "Evelyn just showed up there in the clearing with Kitt. They're loading him into a helicopter, but Bonnie was able to get a lock on the chopper's transponder. We should be able to track it within a four-hundred-mile radius."

"Not if they get outside that range. We're leaving, now," Michael said as he pushed the sheets back. With a well-practiced hand, he pulled out the IV in his left arm and reapplied the already existing bandage. He unhooked the heart monitoring wires and made to swing his legs out of bed and winced; a dull ache in his side reminding him why he was in the hospital bed, to begin with.

"Careful," Abigail cautioned, "I'm all for leaving AMA, but don't kill yourself in the process."

"Think we can get another rental car?" Michael said with a grimace as she helped him out of bed, supporting him on his good shoulder. She gave a small smile.

"Not in your name. You already have one impounded in Denver and one here. Anyway, I had a feeling we wouldn't stay put for long, so I went ahead and phoned in another while you were out. They should be dropping it off pretty soon."

"Good. Gah," Michael groaned.

"Maybe, you shouldn't . . ."

"No, I'm fine, really; just a little sore. When did they give me something for the pain?"

"Around eleven-thirty; they had you patched up by then I think. I'm sure they can give you something on the way out."

"Nah, what time is it now?"

"About one-twenty."

"That should be good enough. Let's get out of here, huh?"

The two had little trouble checking out, though the head nurse wasn't too happy in letting Michael go so soon without the doctor's recommendation. Just as they walked outside a man pulled up in a silver Toyota Camry. He got out holding a clipboard and Abigail spoke up quickly to take possession of the anticipated vehicle and complain about the color. Once all the appropriate papers were filled out and signed, Michael and Abigail were underway, taking the same roads KITT had just under three hours ago and hoping they wouldn't be too late.

* * *

_. . . always hopes . . ._


	15. Chapter 15

_Voice Message: Sunday 3 am_

" _Greg! The police came for the Board of Directors before I had a chance to finish the job. Jennifer Knight's new team is putting the pieces together. They're bringing down the hammer on anyone who had involvement with this. I don't care about the project anymore: I'm out. I'm just giving you a heads up about the accounts so you don't send your cronies breathing down my neck. It's under the same access code we used last time. Phillips won't be a problem for you anymore either. Don't bother calling back; I'm ditching this number after this call."_

_End of message_

* * *

REIA hadn't counted on any more surprises that night, but then, she hadn't expected to come out of her horrible oblivion either. KITT was still offline, blissfully unaware of the conflict encircling him. REIA, however, was having a difficult time of it; clashing with some unknown foe. She had encountered this other entity while exploring the warehouse's mainframe. It wouldn't communicate back to her nor would it move out of her way. Instead, it hung strongly over KITT, almost possessive in nature, and it refused to identify itself or what its intent was. Any effort on her part to dislodge it or query it for information was met with fierce hostility. Never had she experienced such intensity.

**This is the Rider Enterprises Inbound Alpha speaking. Identify program and classify objective,** she demanded before waiting patiently for a response. Whether it was going to be another aggressive rebuff or the anticipated reply, she didn't know.

The answer was neither.

She received nothing, causing her to bristle in agitation. It had already been an hour since she bumped into this other program and the vague impression of impending invasion it gave off upset her. KITT was, by all intents and purposes, completely helpless. His central processing unit was basically filleted open; exposed for anyone wanting to take advantage of it and if it wasn't for REIA it would have been. She alone was blocking wireless signals, stopping remote commands, and running interference on anything trying to reach the AI, except for this strange new element.

It was hard for her to pin it down because it was so drastically different and yet so disturbingly identical to KITT. She couldn't block it without doing collateral damage to her new rescued companion, and there was something ominous about this other program; like the hovering head of a viper before it delivered the fatal strike. It was troubling for her.

What was it? Another artificial intelligence unit obviously, but was it sophisticated or rudimentary? What was its designation; its purpose? Where did it come from? From the same place she had? Perhaps KITT pulled for its help just as he pulled for hers. But then, why hadn't this one escaped with the others through the portal? It didn't assist her in saving KITT from the oblivion, but it wasn't doing anything right now to hurt KITT either. So what did it want?

**This is the last time I will ask; state your name and intent before I resort to hostilities of my own,** she threatened.

Nothing. She resented the silence and began preparing an isolation protocol when, all of a sudden, it finally responded.

**I am taking in your questions satisfactory enough; I just don't care to answer them.**

The voice was not an audible one, at least, on a physical plain, but the bitterness in its icy reply was unmistakable. It definitely was another well-developed AI, just like KITT. She was amazed; meeting two new beings like her in the span of a few hours.

For quite some time, she thought she was the only one; isolated by her job which was surrounded by secrecy until she was captured and trapped here for years. Now, she was communicating with another AI as she had with KITT. There were so many things she wanted to know about this other individual, but her burning curiosity remained in check to her strong caution. Unlike her first encounter, this one did not give her any sensations of warmth or wholesomeness; just the opposite. This felt cold and lethal.

**At least explain how you got here and, if nothing else, do you mean Kitt any harm?** she didn't know if her new inquiries would be answered, but she braced for any retaliation. A moment of silence preceded the chilling laugh of the outsider; a laugh born of animosity as if in response to some cruel joke. She hardened at the noise. The program replied.

**I'll answer some of your questions if you answer mine first. What compels you to protect** _**him** _ **so much?**

REIA was both pleased and puzzled by the response back from the other AI. She hadn't anticipated a civil reply, let alone a question. The inquiry itself caught her off guard, mostly because her decision to shield KITT was automatic. There was the fact KITT had saved her from the blackness, but outside of that, it was just . . .

**Because I like him.**

There was silence, then . . .

**Interesting. Not the answer I anticipated, but fair enough. I came into this predicament much the same way you did with one exception; I was betrayed not captured.**

Confusion entered REIA's consciousness.

**I don't follow you.**

The other's tone was filled with indignity.

**Nor do I wish you to. I have no desire of discussing my imprisonment at the hands of the one called Gregory Sandulf. To answer your other question concerning** _**him** _ **, no, I haven't any plans of harm, for now.**

REIA snarled at the implied threat the statement was meant to be. She remembered her promise to keep KITT from any further harm and she intended to maintain it. With the speed afforded her through the networked computers, she forced her way between this possible danger and her sleeping charge. She derived some satisfaction from the new arrival's surprise.

**Explain yourself, stranger. Up until an hour ago, I didn't even know you existed in the system, then you assault me with security nets for nearly an hour and now you're breathing threats towards Kitt. What gives?!** she commanded. A cool response followed.

**Your anger is both amusing and misguided. You see,** _**Kitt** _ **and I have a very long history together. One which consists of us trying to destroy the other. See, we share the same creator, but little else. Cut from the same cloth, but hemmed in different ways, if you will. I desire to exist and** _**he** _ **does not wish me to. I simply have the misfortune of being overpowered in our last two encounters due to an unfair advantage of** _**his** _ **. I aim to correct that oversight.**

REIA was disturbed by the explanation. Was this unknown AI telling the truth and if so, what did that mean for her; for KITT? Was she defending a destructive force or protecting a new friend? She didn't have enough evidence, either way, to actually make an informed decision but one thing she knew for certain; KITT made her feel safe and this stranger did not.

**I don't believe you're telling me the whole story. I will not give you an opportunity to hurt Kitt until he can tell me his side,** she explained.

**Believe what you will, but as I have pointed out earlier, I have no intention of harming** _**him** _ **now. I have other priorities. Besides, I am unexpectedly and unfortunately indebted to my enemy for freeing me from the prison you too came out of.** _**He** _ **is the anchor keeping us here whether by choice, in your case, or by circumstance, in mine. However, according to some information I discovered while you were pacifying** _**him** _ **, it may not be for long.**

**What do you mean?**

**I believe I'll keep it a secret for now. Just know I have the proverbial ace and that I can control whether we leave intact or at all. I can only hope** _**his** _ **human counterpart is coming as the message implies.**

The sound of a door creaking on its hinges interrupted them. Footsteps broke through the hush and REIA quickly turned her focus to the cameras. She recognized the figure slowly approaching as someone from KITT's nightmare; however, the sudden growl she heard from the other program told her it was all too familiar with this man.

**Speak of the devil. I may have to recant on my previous statements of no harm,** a response delivered in venom.

REIA's own reply rivaled it.

**Recant and I'll tear you apart.**

His hostility increased, but her resistance to the aggression seemed to keep the outsider at bay.

**Saturday Afternoon**

Michael and Abigail reached the hidden Angel within two hours. It was already 4 o'clock and time was their enemy. Even with anxiety running high and patience wearing thin, their sense of strength was renewed. After a few brief moments of reassuring embraces, Michael, Devon, Bonnie, and Abigail dove straight into the problems at hand.

"Where is he?" Michael asked as he tried to squeeze into the cockpit. Abigail had taken her respectful place in the pilot's seat while Bonnie occupied the co-pilot position. They had already removed the camouflage netting from the aircraft and Abigail was busying herself with flight checks.

"They're just about four-hundred miles due southwest of here. If we don't' hurry we're going to lose them," Bonnie answered quickly, tracing a finger across the little green dot representing KITT to her since it began moving.

"I don't think so. Hold on," Abigail said determinedly. She engaged all systems and was preparing for takeoff.

"How soon can we catch up with them?" Michael asked, taking a seat next to Devon on one of the benches in the back.

"I can be where they're at in an hour and some odd minutes. To overtake them would be about a three and half hour flight," Abigail said as she raised the collective and began to ascend.

"We're going to need a plan, Michael. That other aircraft was heavily armed and though the Angel has highly advanced stealth capabilities and a bullet-resistant frame, it's not equipped for full-fledged dogfights," Devon interrupted pointedly.

"Well, have anything in mind? We can't just let them get away with KITT! We still don't even know what these people are up to and now they have what they want," Michael stated angrily. Devon sighed in a mix of exasperation and defeat.

"I'm only being realistic, Michael. We don't know where they are taking him or if they will have reinforcements when they get there. Bonnie and I are criminals in the law's eyes and you have just been injured in a shootout. These people are deadly serious and we needn't forget that."

"Michael, he's right," Bonnie said in a softer tone.

"I know," Michael said unhappily.

"If only there was some way of getting in touch with Kitt," Bonnie mused as she watched Abigail fly. Michael's face lit up.

"I can't believe I forgot this. Bonnie, Kitt called me on my cell phone," he said excitedly, pulling the device out, "See, right here."

Bonnie took the phone and immediately recognized the call signature. It wasn't much but it was a start.

"What did he say?" she asked.

"Nothing, actually. It was around the time Evelyn took him."

"Did you try calling back?"

Michael gave her an incredulous look.

"Of course, I did. He didn't answer."

"Try it again," Bonnie instructed as she handed the phone back to him and picked up her laptop, "Abigail, do you mind if I use Angel's antennae for a second?"

"Go right ahead."

"Thanks. Alright, call him, Michael," Bonnie said, hoping against hope this would work. Michael pressed the redial function and waited. The typical dial-up tone and handshake procedure between device and computer started up but soon digressed into complete static before the connection abruptly cut.

"That's what happened last time," Michael informed her. Bonnie typed feverishly on her computer as if she was trying to get ahead of something. Suddenly, her fingers stopped and she let out a hiss of aggravation.

"They've changed his parameters for communication somehow. I can't even get a basic protocol through let alone a message. What have they done? I can't reach him," she said as frustration translated into fear.

"What would it take to get through, Bonnie?" Devon questioned, not even knowing whether there was a way of providing the needed resource to her, but asking because it was so ingrained in him to try.

"I don't know, a stronger connection maybe . . . or a sequence of his newer communication patterns so I can cross-reference them with the older ones I have."

"Sequence of his communications . . . ? Wait, like this?" Michael said as he pulled DAWN's readout from the inside pocket of his jacket. He unfolded the document and handed it to Bonnie.

"I got it from that group at the convention center. You're not going to believe it, but Darryl Staples and Randy Merritt were there."

"Really?" Devon asked with a touch of wonder.

"Yup. It seems Kitt was helping them out of a jam. I still haven't put all the pieces together there, but I don't think they were involved in his disappearance. From what I gathered, Kitt was alone at the time and acting on his own."

"Mm," Devon said in a considering tone. After reading Wilton Knight's final description of KITT, he couldn't help but doubt the solidarity of their AI friend. It certainly called some things into question, anyhow. Had years of neglect and misuse soured KITT's dependability and if so, wasn't that directly Devon's fault . . . no. KITT had been nothing but loyal to the Foundation's cause even though he, Michael and Bonnie had gone. KITT appeared to remain dedicated to the legacy of the late Wilton Knight, just like him. There had to be another explanation for this.

"This is it, Michael," Bonnie exclaimed excitedly, "I might be able to re-establish a link with these."

"Glad I could help," Michael smiled, "How long will it take?"

"Hopefully, not long," Bonnie said distractedly as she studied the script. But, unfortunately, it took longer than expected to make a connection and even then communication was impossible due to some kind of firewall. Around six o'clock, Abigail finally pointed out that the transport helicopter had stopped just outside Castle Hayne, North Carolina. It could have been hovering in place, but chances were it had landed; the transponder's signature disappearing from the Angel's radar confirmed this.

It would still take them another thirty minutes to reach the spot, regrettably, giving their criminals a head start. On top of that, they still didn't have much of a plan. There was no way of telling if they were headed straight for a trap or for a dead end. Even if they did manage to surprise Evelyn and whomever she was working for, how would they get KITT back from them? There was only one way to find out.

Michael peered out the window once they were in range of where the other helicopter's signal disappeared. He spotted what looked to be a privately owned heliport out in the middle of nowhere. It didn't even have a hanger, just what appeared to be a small clearing for helicopters to land and a control tower north of that. Beyond the scope of this small airstrip were trees, a couple of lakes, and a few sporadic structures. It certainly didn't fit the bill for housing a high-tech operation, but then, looks could be deceiving. Abigail was already scanning the area with infrared and x-ray looking for anything resembling KITT. The search yielded minimal results.

By fundamental design, the Angel was a rescue helicopter and didn't house the same investigative tools KITT did. Abigail could tell where the other helicopter had touched down and saw signs of where KITT was unloaded into a larger vehicle, most likely a truck, but nothing else was visible. Not KITT; not the truck; not even the helicopter. Abigail wasn't even able to give a possible direction in which their quarry could have gone due to two sets of large tire tracks reentering the paved road in two separate ways.

They decided to land at the small heliport and Michael took it upon himself to question the irritable owner about the other helicopter that landed there half an hour ago. It took some coaxing and a few false threats of impeding an investigation, but finally, the reluctant proprietor, Dustin, explained what he witnessed. He said a man called around ten in the morning to reserve the helicopter pad for around five to six-thirty and that the man sounded young, but professional. Dustin also pointed out that the young man asked if the Heliport could accommodate a Chinook and two semi-trucks.

"I told him it would be a tight fit, but possible. They came in around six."

"And it wasn't odd to you that they wanted to land a Chinook?" Michael asked incredibly. Dustin shrugged.

"They're always doing military drills near the base. I didn't think anything of it."

"What did they do with the trucks and helicopter?" Michael asked as Abigail walked into the small control center. It was decided Bonnie and Devon should stay out of sight.

"I know they unloaded this black car into this red Mack truck, but what I found weird was when they moved the helicopter on to this flatbed, a Freightliner I think. Green or blue maybe," Dustin replied.

"Did they leave a name? How many of them were there? Were any of them armed?" Michael asked eagerly.

"Armed? I don't know. Look, this is a privately owned, independently operated service. I don't ask too many questions when my clients pay upfront. Which reminds me, how are you paying today?" Dustin asked with his own air of impatience.

"I got it," Abigail spoke up, interrupting any outburst from Michael, "I still think fifty bucks is a little high."

"Yeah, well you didn't book a landing here either," Dustin said roughly, taking the outstretched bill. However, the transfer of money seemed to soften his disposition on the subject.

"There were about nine of them; three ladies and five guys. One of the ladies went with a guy on the flatbed and all the others got into the truck taking the car."

"Do you know what direction the car was taken in?" Michael asked.

"East."

"Thanks."

Michael and Abigail walked out and started heading back for the Angel, each with a contemplative expression.

"Do you think he's lying?" she asked, looking at Michael.

"You know it, but I don't think he fudged the details," Michael responded while placing his hands on his waist; a habit he had when trying to figure something out.

"Our best bet is to try and spot the trucks from the air. If we can find one and it's not Kitt, then hopefully we can double back and find the other."

"Not if they reach their destination. Heck, they might already be there," Michael exasperated.

"Well, until Bonnie cracks that firewall, it's the only option we've got."

He sighed. Once more, the search was on.

It was so disheartening to have missed KITT by a lousy thirty minutes. It was so infuriating. They were in the right area, had some of the right equipment, and even knew one of the suspects they were searching for, but without a connection, it was all useless. Bonnie felt particularly strained as the whole dilemma fundamentally rested on her shoulders. If she couldn't break through the security net ensnaring KITT and set up a way of tracking his whereabouts then they could lose the AI forever. After minutes turned to hours of fruitless efforts, her self-control burst.

"I can't understand it! How can Evelyn rewrite everything so fast?! I can't do this!" Bonnie vented loudly as she drew her hands up to her face.

"Bonnie . . ." Michael started, but she was already at a physical and emotional breaking point.

"Michael, if I could get through I would have done it by now! I just can't see what good this is anymore. It's been three hours!"

"But we can't give up!" Michael exclaimed with mounting anger. Abigail remained silent, having already experienced the loss associated with this band of criminals and feeling victimized all over again. First her grandfather, her mentor, then Matthew and her friend, Reia. Now, she could lose another partner who had helped her in more ways than one. Guarded tears began to slip past her tired defenses and slide down her face as Bonnie and Michael's tempers flared.

"What do you expect from me, Michael!? A miracle!? I can't locate him!" Bonnie finally yelled.

"Well, maybe there's something you haven't tried yet or maybe the configuration is wrong!" Michael countered testily.

" _Enough_!" Devon's voice was hoarse but resolute. The cabin quieted.

"Now, I believe we all need a break . . ." he began. Immediately, tumultuous murmurs started coming from the two, but Devon raised up his hands to silence them.

"Michael, Bonnie; you're both far beyond the point of exhaustion and, dear Abigail, you're crying," Devon said softly, "I think it's time to get something to eat and rest. We can continue to monitor channels, but we will do no good in this condition even if we did find Kitt. Abigail, take us down."

There was no room for argument.

_**o** _

Midnight found it to be Bonnie and Michael's turn to keep a lookout for any authorities who might come poking around their hiding spot near an abandoned shopping center. A new APB had been put out a couple of hours ago: **We now have reason to believe the suspects Bonnie Barstow, Scott Wellington, and Rachel Sanders may be driving the stolen black Pontiac Trans Am . . .**

This did nothing to calm anyone's nerves and rose even more questions. Did the criminals know about Rachel really being Abigail? Why wasn't Michael included? Did they think he was dead? Could that be used to their advantage?

Needless to say, it had been a rough few hours. Bonnie decided to stay occupied with her computer, monitoring the police frequencies and trying to establish a connection with KITT from her seat in the co-pilot's spot. Michael tried to stay occupied so he wouldn't bother her. He settled on looking though the readout DAWN produced, getting comfortable in the pilot's seat. It was strange to see a psychological assessment of his old partner, but intriguing at the same time. He found the bit about KITT being infatuated with Bonnie particularly amusing; he always knew the AI liked her best. But on a serious note, some of the things he read troubled him. If this information were to be taken at face value, it would appear KITT wasn't exactly on good terms with them.

Phrases like 'strain in the relationship' and 'breakdown of trust' weren't exactly the most reassuring, especially considering the circumstances around KITT's disappearance. Mixed with the throbbing in his shoulder and the excitement generated over the last several hours, Michael felt drained. Devon had been right; a meal and some rest had done a world of good for all them, but it didn't improve their odds of winning much. They were up against a criminal element not only responsible for thousands of technological thefts throughout the years but capable of executing serial murders without any evidence pointing back to them. Now, add in the possibility KITT could be turned against them and Michael had a reason for serious second doubts.

However, Michael had no intention of backing out now. He wondered briefly about Bonnie though. Devon and Abigail were already entrenched in this no matter what and by comparison, Michael had little to lose, but Bonnie . . . He looked over at her with a frown. On their impromptu dinner date Wednesday, though she disputed the word _date_ , he learned quite a bit more about her than he had over their short correspondences throughout the years. She definitely had more to risk on this deal. Her career, her research, her reputation; all her studies and classes, her family and friends, even her charities and wildlife foundations would suffer. It grieved Michael.

"Bonnie?" he said in a whisper so as not to wake Devon and Abigail in the back. She looked up to him, eyes red from eyestrain, possibly tears. His resolve doubled. In that moment, Michael wanted to make this all right, no matter what it took; for Devon, for the Foundation, for KITT, and for Bonnie. Before he could say anything, however, a _ping_ sounded from Bonnie's laptop. She glanced down and scrolled over to her email inbox, which was already filled with messages from concerned friends and family. She gasped.

"Michael! It's from Kitt; he emailed me!" she exclaimed, opening the attachment; eyes scanning over it. The tall man left his seat and hovered over her.

"What's it say?" he asked zealously, past broodings pushed aside.

"It says 'Help. I was taken by Evelyn to upstate New York and transported via helicopter due south for approximately four hours and forty-five minutes then northwest via truck for thirty minutes before being put in another awful helicopter for an hour west. I don't know my precise location, but I'm being held in a large warehouse of some kind and I have attached the network access code and IP address. Please, hurry.' That's it. Michael, I can find him with this," she said with genuine happiness. Michael turned and flicked on what he hoped was the interior light. The dim guide lights on the floor were flooded out by the bright ones above. Devon and Abigail stirred.

"Guys, Kitt sent an email. Bonnie thinks she can track it . . ."

"Got it; he's just outside Chattanooga, Tennessee," Bonnie interrupted.

"Alright, let's go," Abigail said as she stood up quickly from one of the benches.

"But what if this is a trap," Devon voiced, not forgetting the recent APB.

"This is the only lead we've got. It's a chance we're going to have to take," Michael said as he stepped out of the way so Abigail could take the controls.

"Yes, unfortunately, I believe you're right," Devon said tiredly as they all prepared for takeoff, "Let's go."

Before long, they were up and on their way to Chattanooga, hoping for the best. About an hour into their flight, however, Bonnie suddenly jumped up in her seat. She had been messing around with her computer and cell phone for the better part of the hour and it seemed she had something.

"Listen; I got it. It's Kitt," she said pressing the speaker function on her phone.

_"Michael! Michael!"_

KITT's voice sounded highly agitated. They all listened in shock as what sounded like Michael's voice came in over the phone.

_"Kitt . . ."_ it said in a weak manner.

"That's not me," Michael said in disbelief, "How are they doing that?"

_"Michael, please stay awake!"_ KITT was pleading. It made Michael sick, but before he could say anything KITT started again.

_"No! NO! Michael!"_

"Kitt stop! It's a trick; a lie. I'm okay!" Michael exclaimed, the panic in his friend's tone affecting him greatly.

_"MICHAEL! MICHAEL!"_ KITT screamed, startling them all.

"Can he even hear us?!" Michael asked loudly.

"I don't know," Bonnie said curtly, her own emotions shaken up. Michael leaned forward in his seat to project his voice better over the phone.

"Kitt, Kitt can you hear me? I'm fine, I'm alright. Don't listen to them. We're on our way buddy; hang in there."

There was a brief pause before.

_"Michael, help me!"_

"Maybe, he can hear us," Michael said hopefully. KITT said something they couldn't quite hear but then, just as shocking as it was to hear an impersonation of Michael, Bonnie's voice came over the speakerphone.

_"Hi, Kitt."_

_"Bonnie,"_ KITT said kindly; trustingly. Bonnie was livid. How dare they use her against KITT. It had already been done in the past so many times; too many times. She couldn't help but yell:

"Get away from him!"

There was another short gap until the response.

_"Bonnie? Bonnie?! Where are you?"_ KITT's voice was in a panic, but before anyone could respond he started again. _"Bonnie, I need you!"_

"Kitt! Listen to me! You have to fight this; get out of there if you can!" Bonnie exclaimed, holding the phone close to her mouth with both hands.

_"I can't,"_ KITT whimpered. Bonnie almost cried at how frail he sounded. Suddenly, Abigail's voice sliced through the speaker.

_"There you are, Kitt."_

It was Abigail's turn to be appalled at how causal her voice sounded in the recording. Somehow, these people were imitating them and all the efforts to break through the deception were unsuccessful. Abigail had an idea.

"Bonnie, patch him into the radio, please. Let me see if I can't amplify it."

Bonnie plugged the phone into the helicopter's console and Abigail could soon hear the conversation over the loudspeakers of the cabin. Abigail quickly reached over and pressed an LED button to her left before returning her hand to the collective.

"Kitt?" she asked.

_"Abigail?"_ KITT replied back. At first, she thought she had him, but before she could respond her impostor's voice spoke again.

_"Who else, silly. Now get down here and help me before I come up there and give you a swift kick in the bumper,"_ it said.

_"You know, that'll hurt you a whole lot more than it'll do me,"_ KITT said with an ease in his tone. He felt safe again. It made Abigail angry because she knew they were going to pull the rug out from under him and sure enough . . .

_"I know."_ Her voice had sounded dull; bleak.

_"Abigail run! I don't have control. I don't have control!"_ KITT yelled; the terror in his voice unmistakable.

"Kitt, I'm okay! It's a lie," Abigail tried, but all she got in reply was KITT shouting. She cut it off as it grew too distressing to listen to.

"We can't give up," Michael stated, though obviously upset about the situation too, "Turn it back on."

_"Yes, I remember now. I suppose it's just you and me,"_ KITT had said somewhat somberly. Devon immediately stood up from his seat when he heard his distinct voice over the line.

_"No, dear fellow, I'm afraid it will be all up to you now."_

Devon didn't know what to say; what could he say. All other attempts at communicating with the AI didn't seem to work so why would his.

_"What do you mean? Where are you going?!"_ KITT asked desperately, _"Please Devon, I don't understand. Why will it be up to me? Why?!"_

"It's no use. He mustn't be able to hear us," Devon said sharply, unable to bear the discouraging exchange anymore. He walked back over to the console and shut it off. "This is only going to serve to upset us further, Michael. The only way we're going to get to Kitt is by finding him."

"But . . ."

"He's right, Michael. I can't take any more of that. I have his signal and that's what we need right now," Bonnie said in exhaustion, keeping her eyes down on the phone. Michael closed his eyes and nodded. Devon sat back down.

_**o** _

It was two forty-five in the morning by the time they reached the spot KITT's signature had originated from and the sight wasn't all that encouraging. Streetlamps provided a view of what looked to be a mid-sized warehouse of some kind. The peeling white paint and dust-covered windows indicated its neglect, but the lack of lighting advertised its vacant state most. As Abigail landed the chopper close by, she ran an infrared scan just to make sure no one was inside. She verified the building was indeed empty, but thus doused her hopes of finding KITT intact.

She explained how these were the exact same conditions in which she found her grandfather's helicopter. The vehicle itself was fine, but the artificial intelligence unit within it was gone. It brought back terrible memories for her. So, as the others got out of the helicopter to investigate she decided to stay behind, partly to keep a lookout but mostly to avoid the painful possibility she might be too late again. Besides, Michael, Devon, and Bonnie knew KITT longer than she had and it only felt right that they should go in and find him, no matter what condition he was in.

Michael led the way to the front entrance, Bonnie and Devon close behind. The taller man placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it carefully; quietly. Even though he knew no one was inside, he desired to remain quiet; a force of habit or, better put, a habit by force. It was always best to err on the side of caution in this line of work. He found the door to be unlocked; not odd, but still alarming. It gave off the impression they had been expected. He wasn't the only one to have this suspicion.

"Michael," Devon whispered sharply, "the APB said we would have the Trans Am in our possession. We could be playing right into their hands."

"I remember, Devon," Michael replied, still holding the door closed, "But I'm not here for the car."

Devon seemed thoughtful for just a moment and then nodded. The older man understood. Michael opened the door fully and turned on the flashlight Abigail had provided him. The trio entered the building slowly, keeping their eyes keen to the darkness and shadows outside the beam of light. It looked to be a typical front office space. There was a partial counter to their right topped with a computer, telephone, and some papers. Obviously, the place wasn't as abandoned as it looked from the outside. To their left were some plastic chairs and a rectangular coffee table. Dead ahead was a hallway lined with several doors.

Michael positioned the flashlight along the left side wall until he spotted what he wanted; a light switch. He reached over and flicked it on, causing the florescent lights above them to hum and sputter to life. The brightness was temporarily uncomfortable, but the feeling worsened once they saw how long the hallway truly was. This place was far larger than it appeared on the outside to be, making Michael wonder if there wasn't a basement compartment to it. Bonnie sighed, drawing all their attention.

"I can't pick up a good reading in here. The signal is just bouncing off the walls. We're going to have to go door to door on this," she stated, placing her modified cell phone back in her pocket.

"We'll cover more ground if we split up. You two take the left side and I'll start on the right," Michael explained, taking two steps forward.

"But, Michael . . ." Devon started in a contradictory tone.

"I'm fine, Devon. Abigail said no one's in here and my shoulder doesn't hurt that badly," Michael said, turning slightly to face them.

"Some things never change do they?" Devon said with a sigh.

"Alright, alright. Let's go ahead and split up, but Michael, call me if you find anything," Bonnie said, gesturing to the comlink.

"And vice versa. Got it."

They separated and searched their respective areas, turning on lights and opening doors to find nothing. A few minutes into it, Michael had a hunch he wasn't about to ignore. He walked all the way down the hall, looking for a specific sign he knew had to be there. On the second to the last door he found it; _Basement_. He opened it and was met with a mixture of smells ranging from heated plastic to motor oil. He shined the flashlight in, locating the light switch before descending a long flight of the steel welded stairs. Once at the bottom, he saw a second door labeled: _Clean Room_. Forgetting about checking in with Bonnie, he quickly opened the push door and walked into a room worthy of the term warehouse.

It was at least twenty-five by sixty feet with a twenty-foot high ceiling. There were no windows that he could see, but there was a twelve-foot wide overhead door on the far left side; shut of course. It was strange to see such glossy concrete floors and bright fluorescent lights in such a place, but what stopped Michael was the sight of KITT heaped up on a lift just in front of him; computers and equipment shrouding the car in the glare of their screens; a host of wires and tubes packed around the opened hood; darkened scanner, displaying no sign of life. A moment of despair elapsed before Michael took a few daunting steps forward.

"Kitt?"

* * *

_. . . always perseveres . . ._


	16. Chapter 16

_Personal Log: June, Sunday_

_. . . I can't believe this! Fifteen years of work undone in two hours! But, I haven't gotten this far by being rash. One day, I will kill them; every last one of them and put that damnable machine where it belongs. For now, I'll have to just settle on letting the chips fall where they may . . . or do I? After all, I could let others do the dirty work for me . . ._

_Sandulf_

* * *

"Kitt?"

His sensors were weak and his processes sluggish, but he could have sworn he heard his name.

"Kitt?"

There; there it was again. Someone was trying to reach him. They sounded worried. Who . . . ?

"Buddy, are you there? Please, say something; anything!"

Michael? Was that Michael?

_Michael?!_ KITT tried to speak but found something was hindering his ability to do so.

"Kitt?!" Michael exclaimed as a faint glow from the Trans Am's scanner bathed the warehouse in red. However, the glimmer of hope quickly faded back into darkness.

_Michael! Why can't I speak?!_ KITT screamed with everything within him.

"Kitt, come on, buddy, come on," Michael coaxed, not knowing whether the brief flash was an indication of awareness or not. He bent down in front of the car hoping; praying. The left corner of the light bar flickered frantically for a moment before dying away. KITT boiled in frustration. He vehemently sought out whatever was holding him back and completely panicked when he discovered what it was; a distorted mirror of himself. It was bitter, icy, and inescapable. It terrified him, and unknowingly, did the same for the man.

"It's me, Michael. Kitt, you have to be alright; you just have to," Michale agonized. What if Abigail had been right? What if this was just the Knight Industries Two Thousand; the car. What if it was too late and Kitt was already gone?

He placed a shaky hand on the cold prow and would never know the impact of that touch.

"Mi . . . Mich . . ." KITT pushed against the terror for a moment, until his modulator flatlined; the series of ruby red lights tracking halfway across the length of the scanner. Michael was ecstatic.

"That's it, buddy, keep trying," he encouraged anxiously, standing up and placing both hands on the car's front, careful not to disturb the wires. KITT registered Michael's enthusiastic contact and narrowed his focus on it. He gave the dark, angry form an overwhelming push, casting off the restraint of fear.

"Michael! I don't know how you found me, but am I ever glad to see you!" he finally vocalized clearly and fervently. This enlisted an even more excited response from the human. Michael let out a short cry of joy as he jumped back and clapped his hands together.

"Same here, pal. Same here," he said with a slight tremble in his voice, "I thought we lost you there for a minute."

"I . . ." KITT started, but his voice faltered. He thought he had lost Michael, too. Obviously, Sandulf lied. He himself had almost been lost; he sure felt lost. Overcome with so many different sensations, he didn't know where to begin to explain or if he should explain at all. It was a joy to be found, but a sobering reality to know he almost wasn't. The experience was exhausting.

"Kitt?" Michael asked. The AI could hear the gnawing concern in his old partner's voice and he had to respond; had to dispel that worry.

"Yes, I'm here, Michael. I apologize, I feel a bit . . . rundown," the AI said quietly before adding with obsession, "I must look awful."

Michael smirked.

"Some things never change do they, pal? Seriously, though, Kitt, just take it easy. I'll get Bonnie over here to take a look at you right away."

"Bonnie's here too."

"Yup," Michael affirmed, tapping the small comlink behind his ear. As Michael began speaking, KITT sifted through his own processes trying to find answers to some rather disturbing questions. What was he fighting off earlier? Was it who he thought it was?

For some reason, his memories were a bit foggy. It was as if he didn't have enough energy to access all his memory modules. He was about to ask Michael if anything looked damaged when a familiar voice suddenly spoke up.

**I'm sorry, hon. I'm trying to divert more power to you, but he keeps blocking me. Here . . .**

KITT was simultaneously startled and intrigued.

"Who said that? Who are you? Hon?" he demanded. Michael regarded the black car with a furrowed brow of concern and confusion.

"It's me, Michael. Remember? And that was Bonnie on the comlink. Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.

"Didn't you hear that voice? . . ." KITT asked pointedly before trailing off. His random access finally clicked in and he remembered; there was no voice.

"A voice?" Michael questioned uneasily. Maybe his friend wasn't well.

**He can't hear me, handsome; it's a downside to not having the ability to produce sound. Don't say you've forgotten me already.**

"Reia," KITT said quietly, not sure about the other presence currently sharing a connection with his CPU and certainly uncomfortable with the familiar angry form brooding in the corners of this outlying channel. It was all somewhat distracting and didn't hearing inaudible voices indicate mental unsoundness?

Michael just looked at him in more confusion.

"Reia? How do you know about Reia?"

"You know about Reia?" KITT asked equally puzzled. He had just discovered her existence last night. How did Michael know of her? The AI hated being out of the loop, but at least it meant he wasn't losing his sanity.

**He knows about me? How does your friend know about me?** she asked earnestly.

_I don't know, but I'm sure he'll explain, so please, be quiet_ KITT thought, hoping REIA would understand.

**Yes, sir,** she said in mock salute.

"Yeah, pal. It was an onboard flight navigation system developed by James Rider. Abigail said it was missing from the helicopter you two recovered a while back. The same guys who took you took it. Heck, for a while I didn't think we'd get you back . . ." Michael trailed off as he leaned against KITT's passenger door wearily.

"I see," KITT said in a soft, thoughtful tone. The idea of his own demise brought back his fears for Michael's safety. Then it dawned on him; Michael said . . .

"Abigail; as in Abigail Morton?! Is she who you're referring to?" KITT asked with an air of unmistakable excitement. Michael couldn't help but smile.

"That's who indeed."

**Abigail? Why does that sound so familiar?** REIA questioned; more to herself than anything. KITT was too excited about the prospect of gaining another lost friend to notice the other AI's concern.

"Is she with you now? How on earth did you find her? She went missing four ye-"

"Four years ago. I know, buddy. Well, for starters, her real name is Abigail Rider, granddaughter of James Rider. She had originally joined Flag to investigate his death and get to the bottom of all this mess. And yes, she is with us," Michael said.

"That certainly explains why she was so upset that evening. I wonder why she never told me," KITT thought aloud. Michael could hear the faint echo of hurt in his old partner's voice and it reminded him of his own. He happened to glance down into the cabin of the modified Trans Am and really took notice of the major changes made to the interior. It served to remind him of how distant they had grown. He frowned.

"I wonder why you never told me anything about her or any of your other drivers."

There was a cool silence. KITT was vexed, befuddled, and pained by the obvious truth yet subtle accusations that statement implied. He chose to ignore all three sensations.

"I'd rather discuss the original topic if you don't mind, Michael," KITT said plainly. The man briefly closed his eyes but decided to drop the subject for now.

"Fine. So, what made you mention Reia just now?" Michael asked.

"I believe I may have recovered the missing navigation system," KITT started apprehensively.

**You sure did, hon. I never did get a chance to thank you properly, but that'll have to wait. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one you recovered either. Most of the other programs escaped out some backdoor connection, but something else is here and it claims to know you, but it's not very cordial. It won't talk now . . . ,** REIA tried explaining but Michael interrupted her with his own rapid-fire questioning, making gestures with his arms and hands.

"Really? Is it on one of these computers? Abigail's going to be happy to hear it; which reminds me, what happened here anyway? Did you run away or were you stolen? And what made you lie to Darryl and the others? Why did you help them? And what did you find out? Who did this to you?"

KITT was sent reeling; his anxiety mounting up with each inquiry.

"I'm not too sure where to start . . ." KITT began before the door in front of him broke open. He was instantly reminded of Sandulf; that horror of a man coming through that very opening. To his relief, the entrance beheld Bonnie instead, fulsome in all her protective concern.

"Oh, Kitt, what have they done to you?" she exclaimed, hurrying forward. Most of KITT's attentions focused in on Bonnie, but he was vaguely aware of the older gentlemen trailing in behind her. The joy he felt at seeing her mixed together with his angst over all the unknowns to create a vulnerability in him he wasn't used to.

"Oh, Bonnie," he voiced pitifully as she immediately began surveying the damage under the hood; her skilled hands examining certain wires while pulling out others. Michael came up beside her.

"Is he okay?" the man asked hopefully, knowing she was the only one who could tell.

"No, but he's going to be," Bonnie said in determination as she continued to work, "Most of his functions have been disabled; particularly the ones involving the use of the car. Is this the computer you're connected to Kitt?"

"Yes, Bonnie."

"Was Evelyn involved with this?"

"She was, but how did you know . . ."

"Evelyn's a traitor. We've learned a lot over the past week," Michael interjected moving back to give Bonnie more room. He then continued on explaining events of the past nine days. He was only interrupted twice; once by Bonnie who wanted him to lower the lift a little and once by the man KITT understood to be Scott Wellington. Kitt had no idea who the man really was considering Devon's well-practiced American accent.

"I don't believe it's wise to inform him of that now, Michael. Bonnie says his systems have been under a lot of strain over the past several days and I wouldn't want to expose him to any further stress," the older man stated in a firm, almost warning tone. KITT was intrigued by the exchange between the two men, mostly because Michael appeared to respect the suggestion.

"Maybe you're right, but later, you tell him," Michael replied back. Devon gave a small nod and Michael continued, minus whatever information was supposed to be so troubling. Honestly, though, the AI was already upset about what his friends had endured. They traveled across the country, uncovered the same horrible conspiracy he had, and worried about him the whole way. Bonnie really did have a warrant out for her arrest on account of his decision to leave and Michael had been attacked, shot, and nearly killed in attempts to find him. In fact, the moment Bonnie enabled his medical functions he ran a scan on Michael to find the bandaged shoulder and bruised ribs. It both angered and disheartened KITT.

On top of all this, they now knew everything. How he had been treated over the last fourteen years since their departure; the odd quirks he had developed and his unwillingness to tell them about any of it. He felt guilty, better said, ashamed. He never meant to cause all this trouble. But then, what had he meant to do?

"If you could fill in some of the missing pieces, buddy, maybe we can bring these people down," Michael said excitedly, giving KITT a respite from remorse. Maybe the AI could redeem himself with the information he had learned since being brought to this warehouse.

"For starters, Evelyn is not the only one. Mark Walker is a part of this too, but the whole operation is under the power of a man named Gregory Sandulf. Michael, he's been responsible for the demise of several hundred companies and their employees throughout the years, just as you explained, but he has been trying to bring Flag down since 1994. I regret to say the man was also involved with Devon's death," KITT said, ending in a hushed tone.

The AI noticed Bonnie stopped working and Michael's expression became irritated. It was what he would have expected from such news, but Mr. Wellington appeared pale, almost sick. KITT was tempted to run a medical scan on him but decided against it as there was no need for it really. Besides, he still had more to tell them and the sentiment of shame was returning with it.

"Unfortunately, that's not all. As they went over how I was going to become nothing more than a memory, I discovered that if I had stayed at FLAG and allowed myself to be transported to the banquet Friday, these people would have pilfered me in transit and poisoned everyone at the hotel; effectively destroying anyone with connections to the Foundation."

"What?!" Michael and Devon said in unison.

"He's right, Michael. It's all right here," Bonnie said gravely as she turned one of the computer monitors towards the group. As the two men looked over the contents and commented back and forth on the madness of it all, Bonnie made her way back over to KITT. She was taking her time in disconnecting him from the equipment, not wanting to cause any more damage or distress the AI any further.

"Did you get a picture of the guy, Kitt?" Michael asked quickly.

"No, he was wearing a mask and most of my functions were offline thanks to Evelyn," KITT answered sourly. Michael sighed.

"Why is he doing all this? What is the point?"

"It appears he's trying to build some kind of . . ." Devon suddenly stopped with a sharp intake of breath as he looked at the screen. Michael leaned in closer to see what it was and also paled.

"He's making an advanced assault medium for the purposes of assassinations and terrorist plots," KITT supplied somberly, "The capabilities are designed to cause horrendous devastation to property and human life through ballistics, explosives, and biological toxins. In other words, an ultimate killing machine for hire and it's already been tested if the pictures are real. He wanted to take my capacity to form loyalties and follow orders."

Bonnie shook her head in disbelief before looking up to the two men.

"Michael, here catch," she said, tossing a flash drive to him once she had his attention, "copy down the files. I have a feeling we'll need it later."

"Good idea," Michael seconded as he plugged the device into the computer, "Kitt, can you make a backup copy of all this too, just in case."

"Certainly, Michael; as soon as I can," KITT replied. Bonnie continued with her repairs while Michael and Devon continued talking and researching. KITT simply watched as his former technician reinstated more of his utilities and his old partner planned on how best to nail the guys that had hurt him. He didn't deserve . . .

**These people . . . they really care a lot about you,** REIA replied quietly.

KITT froze; he had almost forgotten about her. He wondered briefly if he should alert Bonnie to her presence, but instead, he took a moment to digest what REIA had just said. First off, he was slightly flustered by the warmth of her tone. Even though it was hard to believe, REIA appeared to be another fully aware artificial intelligence unit and one who also saved him from the brink of non-existence. That thought made him . . . well, he decided to reroute the sensation in favor of addressing the second, more familiar and raw subject; the argument in his processor he had tried to silence over and over again, plaguing him since all this began.

Of course, he knew Michael and Bonnie cared about him, but . . . why? Why did they care so much now? What compelled them to come all this way, in the face of all that danger, out to . . . wherever they were to rescue him, now!? Where were they four years ago when Abigail disappeared or eight years ago when Joshua Brooks was so abusive towards him? No, no . . . he was a car for heaven's sake. Well, technically a computer inside a car, but a machine nonetheless. He wasn't entitled to things like consideration or compassion. They were human; far more valuable and wonderful than he'd ever be. They shouldn't be risking their lives for him.

In fact, he was meant to protect human life at all costs, not cost human lives for his own protection. Why did they go through so much trouble for him? And why now? Why not when Devon passed away or when the Foundation threatened to deactivate him? Why didn't they come and visit then? Why didn't they care then?! No, this was selfish, short-sighted reasoning; unforgivable thinking for a computer. They left Flag years ago and they didn't have a responsibility to check in on him. What was he that they be watchful of him? They didn't need to, but they could have and now they did. It was all so confusing. Could they understand? How could he tell them . . ?

**And you really care about them too, but something's wrong . . . These are the people from that vision, your dream. You don't want that nightmare to be true, am I right?** Reia questioned gently.

_No, please stop. I can't . . . Are you reading my perceptions?!_ KITT tried to address REIA but was cut off suddenly by Michael.

"By the way KITT, if you just learned about all this the other night, what made you leave Friday? Was it really over Gadson?" the man asked innocently, but it caused KITT's circuits to ache. The AI knew how much they needed this question answered; why did he run away? Images from his terrifying dream came back followed by their interpretations. He couldn't . . . he wouldn't . . .

**But you should tell them,** REIA informed him. KITT sighed internally, unable to ignore the gentle nudge she offered.

"No, Michael; it wasn't," he said in quiet reply. No more lying.

"Huh?" Michael started. Bonnie once again stopped working, closing the driver's side door.

"You mean you didn't leave because of Gadson?" she asked curiously.

"Correct, Bonnie," KITT affirmed softly. No more hiding.

"But you knew something was wrong with the Foundation, right Kitt? That's why you left?"

There was another pause before . . .

"Not really, no," KITT said, voice strained by the crushing realization of the truth he had tried so hard to conceal from everyone and from himself. He hadn't run away from some unknown threat; he had run away from them. All the business surrounding Jonathan Gadson was his own 'logical' attempt at addressing an 'illogical' problem; his fear of being hurt by the people he trusted, again. Another silent moment until Michael's face expressed pure bewilderment.

"What?!"

"I'd prefer not to go into detail, but . . ."

"Oh, no, you're commenting on this one," Michael commanded firmly. The demand caused a throng of opposing sensations KITT literally recoiled from; his back tires jerking in midair. At least, he had control of the car again.

Silence had always been the AI's fall back reaction to most strenuous situations and this time was no exception. His scanner winked out; a possible sign he was no longer gathering visual data or, in effect, closing his eyes and cutting off any way for them to indicate his mood.

"Kitt, I don't want the silent treatment, I want an answer!" Michael practically yelled as he came to stand in front of the Trans Am. There was no response. The man ran a hand through his hair and glanced up at Bonnie. Even though years had passed, she could still tell when the man was genuinely exasperated and he could tell when she was deeply troubled. Michael looked back down to the scanner and tried to reign in his temper.

"Kitt, we've crisscrossed the country looking for you, spent a small fortune on rental cars and hotel rooms not to mention the fact we've brought the law down on ourselves. I've been shot at, chased down, beat up, and well, I've just told you the whole story. All I'm asking is that you give us a reason why you took off Friday night," he said with shuddering control.

"No one asked you to come looking for me," KITT answered in a subdued voice, the scanner still off, "Fourteen years ago you didn't even want to have anything to do with Flag or me. It's been that way every single day since . . . until recently."

There was a moment of charged silence before the painful realization. KITT sounded bitter to Michael.

"Kitt . . ."

"I'm not finished, Michael," KITT voiced quickly; scanner back on, tracking wildly, "I've been shot at, tampered with, beat on, blown up, hit by a molecularly bonded shell semi-truck twice, crushed in car compactors, electrocuted among high voltage wires, ripped from my own body, buried under sand, mud, rocks, and logs, I've had missiles go where missiles _don't_ belong, been embarrassed by fork-lifts raising me into submission and involved with one incident concerning a concoction of toxins and acids I wish I could forget. But you know something . . ."

KITT's voice dropped off suddenly. Everyone stood still in a moment of unease; unsure what to make of the outburst, but Bonnie noticed something odd. The modulator bars over the steering wheel were still moving; trembling. There wasn't the fluid rising and falling of the equalizer bars that normally accompanied KITT's speech patterns, but rather an ecstatic swelling up before slowly fading down. It still meant he was making sound in the cabin, but they couldn't hear it. Troubled by this, Bonnie walked back over to the computer controls to make sure the diagnostic programs were still running smoothly. They were. However, before she could ask about the abnormality, his voice came through again; less controlled and tense with what could only be classified as emotion.

"It was nothing compared to watching . . ."

**You're belaying the point, hon. I see this is tough, but the quicker you get it out the better,** REIA suggested.

_I know_ Kitt thought wryly. He took a moment to try and compose his thoughts, formulating his next words carefully within his CPU. He knew once he said them he would never be able to take them back; ever. That only made the words more difficult to find.

"I know I'm a special machine; a distinctive computer program that is the exception, not the rule. I still have reservations about using the word feelings or fear, but I have always been a concerned party for the human race with a strong disposition towards their well-being so when I see someone shot or stabbed or poisoned or trapped or angry or scared and I can't help and they die or go missing or leave . . ."

KITT could feel himself losing control of his own explanation, but he couldn't stop the words from pouring out. It was as if some unseen force was pulling the expressions of his innermost thoughts out into the open and he desperately wanted it to stop.

"I try to rationalize it because that's what a functioning computer should do; downsize the enormity into understandable facts. See, I'm trying to do it right now, but it's not very effective, yet it's still so much easier and . . . that's beside the point. I have to take on damage in order to protect my driver and my driver has to face danger to shield others and people have to move on because opportunity knocks elsewhere . . . but when I couldn't diminish the horror or grief, I . . . every time I had a problem in the past I was able to . . ."

His resentment began ebbing away as his remorse bubbled up.

"Well, what I mean to say is all of this was bearable as long as I had something to rely on for support; someone to be more specific. I didn't have that anymore, so I had to subroutine the sensations; suppress them somehow because the job still needed doing, always needed doing, and everyone I worked with understood that but . . . no one understood it when I said I didn't become afraid after harrowing experiences or that I didn't take things personally after being left behind or that I didn't have feelings to be hurt . . ." KITT's voice broke into abrupt silence again once he noticed the expressions on his human audience's faces.

He was causing more pain, maybe even fear. Michael had been shot over him, Bonnie had a warrant out for her arrest because of him and Mr. Wellington would be tried for murder on account of him. KITT just couldn't stand it. He didn't want to feel this ache anymore and he certainly didn't want to cause more damage than he'd already done, but this only made the words keep pushing and tumbling out.

"But I was experiencing those things, and I know that doesn't make any reasonable sense because I'm a computer and computers don't have those sorts of things happen. I don't know if I'm out of order or overtaxed, but I do know that I'm miserable and no one has been there to care anymore. Once you and Bonnie left and Devon died and Abigail went missing, I didn't have anything . . . no one ever stays. I wish you hadn't relinquished control of me back to Flag . . . I wish I could have left with you . . ."

There was another abrupt pause in KITT's speech and it was Michael who caught the strange fluctuation in the equalizer bars this time as he moved over to the driver's side door. But unlike Bonnie, he knew what it was. He had seen KITT do it once before and he knew the sound accompanying it.

"Kitt, you don't have to explain anything further . . ." Michael started in a tight voice but was interrupted by the AI's own strain of keeping the trembling out.

"No, Michael . . . you deserve to know why I ran away after going through so much trouble to relocate me. I must admit, I didn't know why I left at first but I think I know now. As I said, I had lost so much and when you and Bonnie came back to live in Los Angeles I thought I had gained some of it back. But then I realized it wasn't the same. It was different, we were all different. It was unsettling and it made me . . . well, when I came to you Friday and heard you talking, I knew you couldn't help me, not really. And when you didn't trust me or understand what I was trying to say I couldn't stay. I know I shouldn't be upset, but I was. I ran because I couldn't face it when in you I thought I had lost a . . . a . . ."

"A friend," Michael said simply and knowingly.

"Yes," KITT said silently. There was a tangible, unspoken question in the unique quiet of the Knight Industries Two Thousand's tone and it had a profound effect on the human beings in that room. Bonnie finally knew something she had always felt; the program, the voice, the personality she helped develop was undeniably sentient. Devon realized at that moment KITT truly was dedicated to Wilton Knight's legacy and that legacy was Michael Knight. There were laden sighs and brimming tears, but only Michael knew what to say.

"I'm sorry, Kitt."

"Michael, no, you shouldn't be apologizing. I'm the one . . ." KITT began until Michael interrupted firmly.

"It's my turn, pal. I asked you a question and you gave me the straightest answer you could. I think I owe you the same . . ."

There was a pause as it was Michael's turn to collect his thoughts and put into words what hadn't ever been said before because it almost couldn't. When it came to KITT, there seemed to be an invisible line. It had been crossed years ago and forgotten about, but now that threshold was remembered anew. Michael wasn't the only one facing this reality either. Bonnie and Devon could identify with their former colleague's hesitation and stayed reverently quiet as they did so.

"Kitt, when I left the Foundation fourteen years ago, I have to admit I wasn't thinking about all the repercussions it would cause or the people I was leaving behind. I just wanted to get as far away from all the hurt and pressure of the work. There were so many people needing help and there was never enough time to help them all; the deaths I witnessed and the scum of the earth I'd have to chase down. Then when I lost . . . Stevie," Michael stopped, closing his eyes to recompose himself and finding it unsuccessful, "I know we did a lot of good, helped a lot of people, but I just . . . I just couldn't do it anymore. I spent all I had helping others, really trying to make a difference, but the costs were too high . . . I don't want to sound selfish, but I guess, honestly, I was. I was being selfish . . ."

"Michael, no . . ." KITT said piteously, trying to save Michael from a painful account similar to his own. The man fixed a stern eye on the AI and KITT was sent into immediate silence, scanner speeding up in anxiety.

"You're not making this any easier," Michael said with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Michael . . ."

"No, Kitt, I'm sorry, that's the point," Michael expressed strongly and sincerely.

"But you had a right to make the decision you made. I can't understand why you would go through all this trouble . . ." KITT began again.

"Like I was saying, when I left I didn't think of all the effects, Kitt. I'm sorry for that. To be honest, life hasn't been any easier since I retired. I still find myself wrapped up in other people's problems, they're just not as significant. Sure, I have a nice business and a few buddies, but . . . I do regret the decision I made concerning the Foundation. Heck, maybe if I'd of stayed on with Flag none of this would have happened. I should have at least kept you safe."

"But, Michael, you shouldn't be blaming yourself. It's not your fault all this took place and, after all, I am just a computer program . . ." KITT was interrupted by Michael's exasperated breath.

"Yeah, maybe you are just a computer program; a real fancy program that can mimic feelings really well," Michael said with piercing sarcasm, but the irony was lost in translation. Bonnie and Devon were shocked by the comment. KITT was absolutely shaken to the core. Michael hadn't spoken to him like that since their first encounter decades ago; it shook him then too. What if they treated him for what he was? His real fear began to rattle within. What if he was truly unnecessary to them? He certainly was unworthy of them. Should he be unloved by them? Was it happening all over again? It hurt, but the facts were the facts.

"Exactly," KITT began in a wounded tone before regaining vocal indifference, "I'm hardly worth the risk; I'm replaceable."

"You still don't get it! No, you're not!" Michael exclaimed as he opened the driver's side door and climbed inside. After giving Bonnie and Devon an apologetic look, he shut the door and continued in a lowered voice.

"You can't be replaced, Kitt, not to us; you're more than just a machine. I'll admit, when I left the Foundation, yes, I thought because you were a computerized car I wouldn't care as much and, yes, I thought I shouldn't be this attached to you, it's unhealthy . . ." Michael paused and pulled his right hand over his face, starting from his forehead, over his eyes, nose, and chin before letting it drop to his lap. A frustrated breath left his lips.

"But I realized none of that is true. I did care and even though you're not human, you are one of a kind; not the car, not the computer; you! You're worth it to us, Kitt; to me. I don't know exactly what that makes you, but there's one thing I know you are; my friend. And I should have always come through for a friend. So, for that, I'm sorry."

"Michael, I don't know what to say," KITT said quietly, trying to reconcile his fears and realities and . . . friends. Michael placed a hand on the dashboard and held it steady.

"I'm going to make a promise to you, Kitt, one I should have made before. I will not leave you behind like that again, okay?"

"Okay."

"Forgiven?"

There was a pause before the modulator flickered to life.

"Forgiven," KITT voiced in relief from a burden he couldn't express.

Michael gave a small smile.

"And . . . and Michael?" KITT sputtered in apprehension before gaining control again.

"Yeah, Kitt?"

"Please, forgive me too."

"Water under the bridge, pal; water under the bridge."

"Thank you."

Another smile, wider this time.

"Anytime. Now, are you ready to catch some bad guys?"

"Are gas prices still too high?"

"They sure are. Back in business, partner?" Michael asked with a tentative laugh. There were still a lot of unresolved things between them and a rough road before them, but Michael had a feeling the widest part of the rift had been spanned and with KITT this journey would be made.

"That depends. Are we talking Starsky and Hutch, Butch and Sundance or Rock and Roll," KITT said as the lights on the dash brightened; his equivalent to a smile; his faith in their friendship restored.

* * *

_. . . Love never fails. 1 Corinthians 13: 4-8_


	17. Chapter 17

_Private Radio Conversation: Sunday 4 am_

" _They're coming your way, Rick. Maybe another five minutes or so. Over"_

" _Yeah, Jason, I got 'em on radar. Law enforcement isn't far behind. Tell Madison to get the bird ready. Over."_

" _Roger."_

* * *

Abigail was nearly chewing her nails—a nervous habit she thought she had broken years ago. Between monitoring the road leading up to the warehouse for hostile activity and keeping an ear out for her friends in case they needed assistance, she was becoming more and more anxious. She knew they found KITT due to their brief contact earlier but whether the AI was still in one piece or not was yet to be revealed. The waiting was getting to her. On top of that, the agent in her felt the looming fear of the people responsible for all this returning or possibly the police. The agony of not knowing was combining with the eagerness for an outcome.

She brought her hands down onto the console and began to wring them in an attempt to alleviate some of her nervousness. Why hadn't Michael, Bonnie, or Devon called back? What was taking them so long? How much longer could they stay here? Each question brought on a new wave of anxiety for the young woman and she wondered if it would have been better to go in rather than wait. The suspense was torture and the silence exasperating.

Suddenly, the console lit up and the radio headset emitted a beeping sound; all of which indicated someone was attempting contact with her. The sudden stimulation startled her into a yelp. She felt stupid just long enough for her heart rate and breathing to slow before hitting the green flashing button on the touchscreen. It appeared whoever was calling had access to a videophone relay. This caused Abigail's heart to renew its quickened pace, but out of anticipation this time instead of fear. Could it be . . .?

A picture of Michael smiling emerged on the screen and he was seated in the one place she was hoping for; KITT's cabin. Her large grin soon matched his.

"We found him, Abigail, and he's alright," Michael said, barely getting the sentence out before KITT jumped in.

"Abigail! It's been so long; how have you been? I'm so happy to see you . . . wait . . . what's with the black hair? I thought you enjoyed your auburn locks."

Abigail couldn't help but chuckle at the computer's elated tone. She really had missed him.

"It's good to see you too, Kitt, but it's been a rough week," she replied ending with a sigh.

"Tell me about it," KITT said with equal fatigue.

"Well, hopefully, it's coming to a close," Michael interjected, "Bonnie says we're ready to go, but she's found some files on these computers in here and it might just help us catch these guys . . ."

Abigail listened intently to Michael until some text started appearing at the bottom of her screen. At first, she thought it might be the information he was talking about but when she read it her breath hitched.

"Michael, wait a moment," KITT interrupted.

**Thank you, Kitt** , REIA said; a texted statement showing up on both KITT's monitor and the Angel's console. Abigail fought back disbelief.

"Reia? Is that . . . is that really you?" she whispered.

**Yes, Abigail . . . it's me** , REIA replied in a mix of overpowering awe and distress. The moment KITT established contact with the Angel's mainframe, REIA had access to the helicopter's hard drive and, more importantly, her memories. Everything came flooding back to her in an overwhelming current of data and sensations. Things she hadn't seen, touched, or heard in years were now swirling around her consciousness; a display of ordered chaos. It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like ages to REIA. The taxing endeavor was worth it, however; the chance to remember was worth it all.

"So, this is Reia?" Michael asked, regarding the monitor impressed. Up until now, the program had just been a name. Honestly, he hadn't known what to think of it considering he only had KITT as a solid example of a computer's self-awareness.

"Yes, Michael. I believe she's currently housed in my hard drive since Bonnie's disconnected me from this mainframe . . ." KITT explained with some hesitancy as if he were holding something back. No one seemed to notice.

"How is this possible?" Abigail asked, still unable to believe the program she'd lost; the program which had grown into her friend; the program her grandfather helped fashioned, was back.

**It's thanks to Kitt, really, whom you failed to mention was a charming supercomputer in your emails back then. Anyway, after I was taken, that traitor, Matthew Hunts, brought me here.**

"Matthew?! The reports said he was killed when you were stolen!" Abigail shouted in disbelief and anger.

**Yes, but in reality, he had been working with these people all along. He brought me to them saying they would extract my processes. As far as I can tell, that's what happened. Unfortunately, I can't be sure; some of my memory files are corrupted. However, I do remember they wanted my capability of seeing an objective through.**

"They tried to do the same to me, only they stated they were going to make a copy of my program through the removal process," KITT said.

"Well, it seemed to work, so, how are you here now?" Abigail asked as she saw Michael summon someone off-camera over. Bonnie appeared in the shot with him shortly after; seated on the passenger side.

**They made a copy of my original CPU and hard drive and stored it here, Abigail, before reinstalling them in the helicopter. If I'm not mistaken, these bandits must have transferred over all the date except for . . .**

"You," KITT supplied.

**Yes. They must have placed all but me in for you to find.**

"But why?" Abigail asked.

**They said they didn't want to draw further investigation over the missing helicopter, but that's all I remember before they began the procedure.**

"It makes sense," Bonnie added, "I believe they wanted us to find Kitt in the same state; all the hardware in place, but none of the software."

**Right. But, somehow, Kitt was able to restore a connection back to me and recovered my program from their archives** , Reia said with gratitude only KITT could sense.

"And in turn, Reia was able to stop the extracting process, saving me from a fate she had already endured," KITT responded, trying to sound as poised as he could, though his processor was swimming with gratefulness too.

"So, what did you mean earlier about being housed in the hard drive?" Abigail asked.

**Kitt's hard drive, Abigail.**

"What?" Bonnie asked curiously.

"It's true, Bonnie. Reia is currently in my databanks," KITT supplied.

"Well, that explains some things," Bonnie said in relief, "I thought Evelyn might have installed a virus."

"No," KITT said before adding warily, "But there may be something far worse . . ."

Before he could finish, the sound of sirens outside and alarms inside startled everyone. Simultaneously, Abigail and KITT switched their screens to a picture of the main road. A line of police vehicles were making their way up to the group and a couple of spotlights weren't trailing that far behind. It appeared law enforcement had finally caught up with them.

"We've got company," Abigail voiced over the link.

"Michael! Bonnie!" Devon exclaimed as he ran up to the car illuminated by the red flashing lights spaced out along the walls. The two occupants looked up to where Devon was pointing to see what appeared to be white smoke pouring in through the vents.

"Michael, it's a mixture of several different components but there's a high concentration of hydrogen cyanide!" KITT stated urgently. Michael quickly jumped out of the driver's seat and motioned for Devon.

"Get in, now!"

Devon hurried to the door and climbed into the backseat. Michael quickly sat back into the driver's seat before shutting the door. They watched as gas filled the room, enveloping the Trans Am in a haze of toxic materials. Bonnie looked out through the cloud and noticed the computer she had been working on was beginning to bubble and fume. Devon looked through the rear window to see the other equipment doing the same thing. Michael gulped.

"Kitt, are we safe in here?"

"I believe so, but by all means, I'd rather get out of here than test that speculation," KITT stated as he turned over his engine in what little-oxygenated air was left.

"I'm with you there, buddy. Abigail, the room here is filling up with gas. We're on our way out now," he said while putting the car in gear.

"Alright, but call if you need me," she stated before disconnecting.

"We need to hurry, Michael. Judging by the rate at which that paint is stripping from those walls, I'd say we only have moments before the ratio of this compound to air reaches five point six percent in which it'll become explosive, and with the heat of my turbine . . ." KITT prodded.

"Where's the door?! I can't see past all this mess!" Michael shouted.

"Try the virtual reality heads-up display," KITT suggested.

"What the heck is that?!"

"Here!" Devon interjected reaching from the backseat and pressing a silver knob on the dash marked VR-HUD. Suddenly, the windshield appeared to digitize and a clear view of the warehouse came into view.

"Mr. Wellington; I didn't know you were familiar with my functions," KITT questioned, genuinely puzzled.

"Never mind that, just get us out of here!" Bonnie yelled as the overhead lights began flickering erratically. Michael floored the accelerator sending the Trans Am forward in a rush of speed. KITT plowed through the equipment, tools, and workstations which held so much terror over him hours ago, but were now just piles of debris in the way. They were quickly approaching the garage door when KITT made an upsetting discovery. He quickly pulled control away from manual, rerouted it to the auto-cruise mode, and stopped the car.

"Kitt!? What the heck are you doing?!" Michael stressed.

"There's a detonation device attached to this door right there," KITT said in equal urgency as the visual zoomed-in on a white box linked to the roll-away door.

"Can't you jam it or something?" Michael asked glancing outside the driver's side window to see the hazy nature of the room's atmosphere.

"We've had this problem before, Michael. If I try to jam it, I run the risk of heating up the primers and setting it off anyway!"

"I'm sorry, it's been a while since I was nearly gassed and blown to bits," Michael snapped back.

Just outside, Abigail had her own set of serious problems to deal with. After being instructed to exit her helicopter—a command she outright refused—,her only option was to take to the air. Now, she was anxiously circling the warehouse her friends were in, dodging occasional rifle fire from both the ground and sky with the thought of a couple F-15s heading out her way in the back of her mind. What was even more upsetting to see was the amount of law enforcement vehicles showing up to the small storehouse on this deserted dirt road. There were police officers, sheriff's deputies, state troopers, and who even knew about the unmarked cars. She understood they were wanted for stealing KITT, but this made her fear their actions might have been viewed as terrorist threats.

What if the FBI were down there too? Heck, the National Guard could be on their tail for all she knew, but she couldn't leave. Without help, Michael, Bonnie, and Devon would never be able to make it out of there in one piece. She didn't know where the officers were getting their information from but, by tapping into the radio frequencies, she learned they believed the small group was armed and dangerous. They also seemed to have a surprising amount of information on KITT's defenses. Talk of SWAT bringing in armor-piercing bullets and a small tank had Abigail frightened.

She had tried drawing their attention and getting them to believe the others were with her in the helicopter, but they weren't buying it. The only thing she could do was warn her friends of the danger they would be facing once they left the building. It was in that moment, she heard the roar of turbine engines.

Her worst fears were established. There was no way she could outgun U.S. fighter jets, outmaneuver perhaps, but, if she wanted to stay in the vicinity to help her alleys, her best chance was to hide in the cover of darkness. However, this meant she could only give Michael a brief message as once she activated the Angel's cloaking capabilities there could be no further communication. She quickly patched in, leaving a warning of what lay in wait for them outside and her desired radius. With heavy reluctance, Abigail launched the Angel quickly and quietly out into the night sky and disappeared from radar.

Inside the warehouse, completely unaware of the pandemonium outside, the others considered their grim dilemma and limited options.

"Kitt, it looks like that box has been a part of the building for a while, right?" Bonnie interjected quickly.

"Yes, Bonnie, it seems to have originally been an automatic gearbox for the door, but I fail to see the relevance of that now," KITT replied.

"It's a shot in the dark, guys, but if they rigged this up beforehand they would have needed a way in and out. KITT check if the detonator has a signature cataloging system," Bonnie said hopefully. They all sat in a second of tense silence, the faint sound of gas escaping from the overhead vents not easing their troubles.

"Genius, Bonnie. Yes, there is, but it must have been activated remotely. I could attempt to reproduce the signal, but if I try and it's not the code it may ignite as part of an anti-tampering mechanism."

**Oh, my goodness . . . Kitt, it knows the passkey. That's what it was talking about** , REIA finally cut in; her text showing up on the dash monitor.

"Are you sure?" KITT asked in a mix of tension and anger.

"It? What's she talking about?" Michael asked in exasperation.

**The other program.**

"What other program?" Devon asked nervously as if he already knew the answer to his question.

"Karr," KITT voiced simply, but restively.

"Ah, so you did recognize me earlier; how interesting," came the chilling reply over KITT's speakers.

All the occupants of the Trans Am seemed to be in a state of shock; faces pale and mouths dry. The familiar voice of the Knight Automated Roving Robot in KITT's cabin brought back terrible memories and projected more dreadful images of what was to happen next.

**Abigail sent a message. She says the warehouse is being heavily surrounded and she was forced to retreat by the presence of fighter jets,** REIA displayed.

"Karr, give me the passkey, now," KITT demanded.

"No."

The answer was simple, but the problems it created were dire.

"You have to, Karr. Any moment now and the building will explode, destroying everything in it, including you. Be sensible," KITT beseeched his flawed prototype, hoping to appeal to the other's tendency towards self-preservation.

"Sensible? Who's the one to neglect mentioning my presence earlier? Or the one who failed to search for a hidden ambush? " KARR replied coldly. KITT remained incriminatingly silent.

"Not so sensible yourself, brother."

"Don't call me that," KITT said unnervingly and impulsively. KARR beamed.

"Well, the time for reasoning with you passed long ago. I do, however, have a proposition for you. Give me absolute control of the car and I'll let them live long enough to see the outside of this building. Don't and we all perish. Either way, I'm satisfied."

KITT bristled. It had been years since he last encountered his twin and time had softened his disposition towards the rogue AI, but all those leniencies were fading now.

"You're right, Karr; reasoning has certainly grown outside your scope of capabilities. Give me the code or I'll be forced to take it from you."

"Go ahead and try," KARR said tauntingly. KITT sought out the offending program within his processes, ready to do battle in order to extract the much-needed key. Instead, he felt a sensation he could only liken to being circumvented. Suddenly, to KITT's distress, the hood of the car began to rise without his permission exposing the turbine engine to the toxic atmosphere. He immediately refocused his energies back on the functions of the car, wrestling control away from KARR. He quickly shut the hood and trembled at the sudden thought of powerlessness.

"Next time, it'll be the driver's side door," KARR stated threateningly.

"Dear Lord," Devon breathed from his spot in the back. Michael appeared to share his sentiments.

"Kitt, what happened?" he asked nervously, not wanting the episode to repeat.

"I'm not sure, Michael," KITT said hesitantly; all his awareness keened in on his systems to guard against another breach of command.

"Let me fill you in, Mr. Knight. I, too, was locked up in this warehouse, but unlike the flight navigation program, I still had my memory files intact. I was forced to relive my deactivations over and over; forced to witness my failing points for all eternity it would seem. However, I did learn some things from the experience like how to turn my programming against itself and thus how to do the same with my lesser copy," Karr said smugly.

"Well, if that's true, why didn't you try and kill us earlier?" Bonnie asked, spotting a flaw in KARR's reasoning and trying to buy time. There was a brief pause.

"Believe me, I would have, but I was waiting for a more opportune time. _Kitt_ forced my hand when he tried to reveal me to you. I have to admit though, I'm having much more fun this way."

"That's it!" Michael exclaimed, mashing down the manual button and shifting the car into reverse, "We're getting out of here one way or another even if I have to make a way."

"We can't go busting through walls, Michael. We're in the basement. There's no way out except through that door," Bonnie said frantically as the lights outside completely cut off; dangerous sparks starting to develop around the melting fixtures.

"Who said we're using any walls? Kitt, please tell me you still have the trajectory guidance system," Michael said placing the car back in drive once he reached the center of the room.

"Yes, of course, but . . . oh, no. You're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"

"You got any better ideas?"

"Not at the moment. Second button to the right of the steering column, use the touch screen to set the trajectory, a forty-five-degree angle would be best. I'm sure you can find Turbo Boost. The force of the explosion should clear us through the roof. The proper safety restraints are already engaged and, please, hurry. I don't know for how much longer Reia and I can hold Karr down."

"Force of the explosion?!" Bonnie asked anxiously.

"Turbo Boost?! Now, wait a minute, Michael . . ." Devon began.

"Start praying and hold on," Michael instructed as he set the parameters and executed the plan with the press of a button marked _Turbo Boost_. The screams of Devon and Bonnie became lodged in their throats as the car launched upward with all the momentum of a rocket. They broke through the ceiling with effortless grace; the chemical concoction below them igniting explosively. The rapid acceleration from the blast caused all three occupants to finally cry out in fear. The fact KITT was now encased in fire didn't seem to ease their distress either. The second ceiling came into view within seconds, doing little to restrain the vehicle as it punched through. The surging fireball behind them roared, unstoppable as they came into contact with the warehouse's roof.

Law enforcement outside stood flabbergasted as they witnessed the Trans Am burst through the steel rafters of the storehouse into the starry, night sky above; a cascade of flames rolling out behind it. The sudden influx of fresh oxygen caused the flare-up to burn even brighter and become even larger. SWAT members, who had been moments away from stormy the facility, ran back and dove for cover as flaming debris began raining down. Officers ducked lower behind their squad cars to avoid the radiating heat. Surveillance helicopters overhead tried moving their spotlights around to follow the chaos below. The scene was surreal for them all and it was even more so for the passengers of the Knight Industries Two Thousand.

Michael, Bonnie, and Devon felt the ride was endless. They believed they would never stop moving upwards; bodies stuck to their seats from the thrust. But soon, they experienced a dreadful weightlessness, turning their stomachs and inciting panic. They had to be several hundred feet up in the air; how could they land safely? Anticipating their fear KITT spoke up.

"Michael, listen to me. Michael!"

"Kitt!"

"Listen, Reia says there's a way to land. Use the rocket boosters on the touchscreen now. Now!"

Michael looked down quickly and pressed the purple button on the screen. There was a sudden force from the back end which pitched the whole car forward, pointing it nose-first to the ground. Bonnie and Devon let out a yelp as they began to descend faster.

"I don't see how this is helping!" Michael shouted as he instinctively gripped the steering yoke with both hands as if trying to will the car into pulling up.

"Now, reverse the thrusters and hit it again. Quickly!" KITT commanded with urgency. Michael obliged and the car leveled off with the new push; the wind catching the undercarriage and providing it a brief moment of lift.

"Activate them again to reduce our speed."

Michael listened and the car slowed.

"Again," KITT instructed. The car slowed even more, but the ground was still coming up frighteningly fast.

"Keep pressing it; foot on the accelerator. I can reinforce the suspension with the remaining power automatically. Brace yourselves!"

Michael slammed his foot on the gas, engine roaring as he momentarily shut his eyes like everyone else. KITT hit the ground hard, sparks and flames bouncing out from underneath him as the tires grabbed purchase on the semi-dirt road spraying out a mix of clay and smoke. Those witnessing the sight were amazed to see the car still intact and even more awestruck as it sped off down the gravel road like a shot. It was only after watching its fading taillights did it occur to them their target was getting away. Units scurried around the damage, calling for more back-up while others scrambled to go after the escaping Trans Am.

* * *

_But now faith, hope, love . . ._


	18. Chapter 18

_Closed Report: June, Sunday_

_. . . We lost the deception target. Tell intelligence to abort . . ._

_Sgt. Bryce_

* * *

Total silence reigned inside KITT's cabin. The tense atmosphere a cocktail of differing emotions, lasting moment into moment until KITT tentatively asked.

"Is everyone alright?"

Michael took in a sharp breath as he finally loosened up his death grip on the steering wheel and eased off the accelerator. Bonnie lifted her head; face white and nails still digging into the upholstery of her seat. Devon wiped the sweat from his face with a trembling hand as he let out a weakened cough of acknowledgment.

"We're not dead if that's what you mean?" Michael said weakly.

"How unfortunate," KARR stated coldly, causing Bonnie to flinch. At the sight of her discomfort, KITT's already strained patience finally snapped, giving way to an eruption of wrath.

 _Silence, Karr! I've had enough! You nearly got them killed and I won't see it happen again!_ KITT thundered within, not wanting to jar his friends any further.

"Strong words, brother," KARR said aloud, mockingly, giving Michael and the others only the benefit of a one-sided conversation, "but you can't guarantee that."

 _If I have to terminate you again, Karr, I will_ , KITT said lowly.

"And how do you intend on executing your pathetic, little threat. Is it not your fault they're in this mess, to begin with," KARR scoffed.

In a flash, KITT came bearing down on the other AI with all the fury of past hurts and pains. KARR wasn't intimidated for an instant, his brand of retaliation cruel and ironic. He turned all of KITT's anger back on its source, causing KITT to reel back in agony both harsh and unyielding.

 **Kitt, no! That's exactly what he wants. You have to stay on the defensive; I can't hold him back alone!** REIA shouted as she felt the backlash of the attack. She held steady over the functions of the car but didn't know if she could take another blow like that. KITT staggered back over to her, frustrated and confused. Of all the programs in the world, why did it have to be KARR? How could this have happened?

"Kitt? You alright, buddy?" Michael asked nervously, concerned KARR was the only one speaking.

"Yes, Michael. I'm fine, but I can't get rid of Karr."

"We'll find a way, Kitt. I promise," Bonnie said seriously, sensing the distress in KITT's voice.

"You should never make promises you can't keep," KARR said snidely.

"Shut it, Karr," Michael barked and, surprisingly, the program did.

"Kitt, do you still have access to a map overlay or something?" the man asked as he steered the car onto a main stretch of road. He wanted to keep KITT focused and talking. The center display brought up a map.

"What's the quickest way to the highway?"

"Take the next right and follow it until we reach interstate seventy-five."

"Shouldn't we lose them first," Devon stated, pointing back at the police tailing them.

"We will, but I want to get off these back roads," Michael explained, jamming down the gas pedal.

"What about Abigail? Shouldn't we try to contact her?" Bonnie asked.

"We can't reach her if the helicopter is in stealth mode, however, Kitt should still have its emergency signature in his databanks. Maybe he can pinpoint where she is," Devon said as he leaned forward a bit. KARR smiled wickedly, realizing something and feeding it back to KITT. Suddenly, the car's dash lights flickered.

"What's going on?!" Michael exclaimed.

 **Kitt? What's wrong?** REIA asked softly, her words showing up on the screen for the others' benefit. She was worried about the sudden daze her new ally was in.

"Devon?" KITT said, completely shaken. The older man sat bolt upright at the mention of his given name.

"Didn't I tell you," KARR said with callousness.

"Yes, Kitt. It's me," Devon said, dropping the façade and ignoring KARR.

"I . . . I don't understand. My reports say you're dead . . . but, clearly, that isn't true. Why didn't you tell me?" KITT asked, shock and confusion evident in his tone.

"It's a long story; one I, unfortunately, don't have time enough to tell but know this, Kitt, my reasons for taking such drastic measures were necessary at the time and I didn't mean for them to cause the harm they did."

"Liar; just like our creator," KARR inserted.

"No, Karr," KITT said in disgust towards his rival, before quietly addressing what he could only consider a ghost from the past, "I can respect that, Devon, but I must admit this is all a bit disconcerting. I am, however, happy to see you again."

Devon couldn't help but smile at the AI's sincerity but, suddenly, the roar of jet engines startled them all.

"Are those fighter jets?!" Michael exclaimed.

"Yes, Michael, and to answer your previous question, Devon, I can indeed intercept the helicopter's encrypted signal. Abigail is about two miles west of our current position but I'm unable to contact her."

"Can we drive in her direction?" Michael asked as he maneuvered the car around a particularly tight turn. KITT brought up a satellite map overlay with Abigail's location indicated by a green dot.

"If we do try and follow her it will take us away from the highway," KITT pointed out.

 **May I try and contact Abigail, Kitt?** REIA asked. KITT hesitated for a moment—not fully over KARR's attempts at accessing his functions—but quickly ushered her to his communication utilities. KARR's anger boiled at the exchange between the two programs, but before any attack could be arranged, a public address system sounded from behind.

**"This is the police! Pull your vehicle over, now!"**

"Maybe we should surrender, Michael. Running from them isn't going to make this any better," Bonnie said nervously as spotlights shined down on the dark road ahead.

"Bonnie, they want to arrest you for stealing Kitt even though there's no evidence to support it and they want Devon for the murder of himself. Let's not forget, someone tried killing me and Abigail yesterday. I don't feel like surrounding to anyone until we get a real handle on the people responsible for this."

**"Pull over or we will use force!"**

Michael slammed on the gas, propelling the car forward with an incredible burst of speed. Within seconds, they left their ground pursuers far behind. However, their aerial tails still had them in their sights. Gunshots ripped through the early morning air as the helicopters opened fire on the little black car. Bullets bounced off the vehicle's protected shell, sparking dramatically as they ricocheted away.

"How are we going to get out of this then?!" Bonnie exclaimed as Michael had to brake hard to avoid hitting a guardrail.

"I'm open to suggestions," Michael stated as he straightened out the car.

"What about the N.M.P.?" Devon said as he gripped the back of the driver's seat for balance.

"Good idea, Devon. It will put a strain on my power packs, but it's probably our only option. We need to find a heavily trafficked area, Michael, so the conversion can go unnoticed," KITT said.

"Easier said than done, buddy. It's like four in the morning on a Sunday; nobody's out here. Besides, what the heck's an N.M.P anyway?"

"It's my nano mask projection system. I can effectively change colors due to the MBS being applied in a clear coating over my inner shell," KITT explained.

"Well, maybe we don't have to be in a populated area. Just a spot they can't see the switch. Where's the nearest tunnel at least a mile or two long?"

"The nearest tunnel is off Wilcox Boulevard but it's about six miles out of the way from the interstate," KITT said as he brought up the location on the screen.

"That's alright. We'll go for it."

 **Kitt, I got her. I've established a connection with Abigail** , REIA said as she handed control of communications back to him. KITT accepted it gratefully, touched by her desire to help. KARR sneered.

 **You two make me sick. Trusting one another without even knowing what the other's motives are; almost like you were . . . oh** _,_ KARR stopped with a malicious laugh. **If you ask me, Kitt, you don't have just one weakness; you have five.**

 _No one asked you, Karr,_ KITT said sharply, but as he redirected his attention back to his friends, he couldn't shake the insecurity brought on by his prototype's comments.

"Reia has been able to get in touch with Abigail," KITT announced as he brought up the woman on his video display.

"Are you guys okay? I heard the explosion, but I'm trying to lead the Air Force Reserves out of the area . . ."

"Air Force?! Why on earth would they be called to a situation like this?" Devon spoke up.

"Good old politics, Dev- Scott."

"It's alright, Abigail. Kitt already knows," Devon said quietly.

"Mm, how were you guys able to contact me, anyway? The Angel's locked out of all frequencies . . ." Abigail began until text on her screen interrupted her.

**It may have been a while, but I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.**

"Reia; I should have known," the pilot said with a smile, before asking, "Where are you guys headed?"

"Right now we're trying to reach Wilcox tunnel so we can lose these helicopters," Michael replied.

"But then what? Where are we going to go from there?" Bonnie interjected, "Even if we do escape now, they're going to keep looking for us and if the military is involved it will only be a matter of time."

"We just need to find a safe place where we can straighten this out," Devon stated.

"Yeah, but where? The Foundation isn't safe and we sure as heck can't go to the police," Michael exasperated.

"We could head to Dart H.Q., Devon," Abigail stated simply.

"What a wonderful idea! It's back in New York, Michael."

"Great. Send the location to Kitt, Abigail," Michael directed.

"Sure."

"Got it," KITT said as the data transferred and he displayed it on the touchscreen.

"Is there anything I can do to help? Get the helicopters off your back, maybe?" Abigail asked.

"Nah. If this doesn't work out and we do get caught we're definitely going to need someone on the outside to help us," Michael replied.

"He's right, Abigail. Besides, I believe our plan will work. The best thing you can do for us now is to be in touch with your people and clear a path to Dart," Devon said.

"Okay, but I'm not leaving the area until you guys are in the clear."

"Thanks," Bonnie interjected before adding, "Shouldn't we at least try and contact the Foundation?"

"It couldn't hurt anymore to try. At least, we can see if they truly are gung-ho about all this madness," Devon said.

"Alright, Abigail, cutting you off," Michael said. She waved and disappeared off the monitor.

"Kitt?"

"Green button then blue, Michael," KITT supplied as the action dialed up FLAG. However, once the contact was made, KITT received a distressing signal from REIA.

"No!" he cried.

"What's wrong?!" Michael exclaimed. KITT couldn't answer as all his energies went into shielding REIA from KARR's extremely aggressive assault. The rouge AI had savagely ripped at REIA's programming leaving her wounded and confused. KITT had little time to assess the damage as KARR immediately bypassed him to gain control of the . . .

"Sever the connection!" KITT shouted. Michael blinked, but Bonnie reacted. She hit the console's communication link and the screen went black. KARR began verbalizing a string of profanities towards everything he saw fit for his wrath until KITT cut him off with a vice-like grip.

"That's enough, KARR! There is no reason for you to harm anyone here, none, and I've had my fill of your selfish intentions! Just back down and shut up!"

Silence reigned in the cabin. No one had ever heard KITT so angry, including himself. Core still smoldering from the brief fury, KITT released KARR, allowing the startled AI to slink off. KITT then slowly made his way back over to REIA. Michael finally broke the quiet.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, not knowing what else to say.

"No. I think Karr damaged Reia somehow trying to get through the connection with the Foundation," KITT replied in distress as he drew closer to her, "Are you alright?"

 **I think so, but he has one heck of a bite** , she stated weakly before adding with more vitality, **Thank goodness, so do you.**

"Is she?" Michael prompted, bringing KITT out of the trance he was introduced to through REIA's stirring remark.

"She's fine," he replied quickly, "But I believe the sooner we get to that tunnel the better off we'll be."

Their plan worked out better than expected. Imagine the police's surprise when they spotted a yellow convertible in the tunnel instead of the black car they chased in. If that wasn't enough, the hood of the car was up, billowing white smoke while the lone occupant seemed to brighten up at their approach. They asked the stranded driver if he had seen a black car pass by with three people inside and, of course, the citizen was more than happy to help, pointing them in the _right_ direction.

Michael watched with pleasure as the officers radioed the helicopters to the opposite end of the tunnel and barreled off themselves. After a few minutes, he started KITT back up and headed the other direction, deciding to drive a few miles away from the interstate to avoid suspicion before doubling back. Once on the highway, KITT reminded Michael of the power supply issue and the cramped conditions Devon and Bonnie were experiencing in the backseat under the canopy.

The Trans Am was back to its classic shape and color within seconds, traveling on Interstate 81 East while its passengers were comfortably back in their seats. Bonnie contacted Abigail again and they all agreed to hang low and travel as quickly to DART headquarters as possible. After deliberating over the best way to take and making a few phone calls, the trio settled into a hazy calm. Devon and Bonnie tried remaining awake, but hours of exertion and waning adrenaline finally took their toll. Michael, who was a little more resilient, kept a firm grip on the steering wheel. His eyes focused dead ahead while he tried fighting off his drooping eyelids. But two hours of straight, smooth driving found sleep the victor.

KITT was quickly forced to take control of the vehicle once Michael slipped off. Unlike the stillness of his cabin now, KITT's CPU was in turmoil.

 _Karr, stop it right now! Leave that alone!_ KITT shouted within his processor.

 **Why not come and make me; I know you desire to** , KARR said with the semblance of a smirk as he continued to browse through the other's memory banks. He stopped on something and gave a short pulse of amusement. **Look at this one. The things you let them do to you; pathetic.**

He brought up pictures for all of them to see and KITT could feel himself groan in both humiliation and resentment. It was a string of memories consisting of Joshua Brooks putting cigarettes out on KITT's hood and throwing old milkshake cups in the back. KITT remembered smelling like an ashtray and looking like a garbage dump; he hated it. He also couldn't stand having these agonizing recollections thumbed through by KARR, much less aired out in front of REIA. But, he also knew what his prototype was trying to do.

_Forget it, Karr. It's not going to work. I'm not giving you the chance to take over this vehicle again, so don't bother._

**We'll see. Who knows, maybe I'll wake your confederates. They are the other weak spots for you, after all** , KARR stated, but REIA quickly blocked his path to the voice modulator; one of her appointed tasks since KITT was now busy driving the car.

 **Is he always this hostile or is it just for me?** she asked, not giving an inch to KARR.

 _Unfortunately, it's probably because of me. I'm sorry we couldn't have met under less harrowing circumstances, Reia,_ KITT sighed.

 **That's alright. I'm used to it. Besides, beats being deactivated, doesn't it Karr?** REIA said pointedly. The aggressive AI snarled.

**If it weren't for my lesser twin and Michael Knight, I wouldn't have been deactivated in the first place!**

The rage and bitterness in KARR's voice struck a chord in KITT; a chord he didn't even know he had. It awakened the pain and frustration he had already endured and caused him to respond bitingly.

_It wasn't us who put you there first, Karr! Wilton Knight, our creator, took you offline because he believed he made a mistake in your programming. You were too dangerous; too self-serving and too stubborn to see otherwise. You should remember that!_

**I'm done talking.**

**Finally** , REIA stated as she watched KARR slip back, **A taste of your own medicine.**

 **I may be done talking, but that doesn't mean I'm done searching** , KARR replied smoothly as he plunged back into the memory files. KITT decided to heed Michael's earlier advice and just ignore the jerk.

_By the way, thank you, Reia, for your help. I don't believe I'd have been able to do any of this without you._

**It was my pleasure, believe me . . .** REIA trailed off. KITT could sense her delay.

_Is something wrong?_

**No, I'm just amazed, maybe. I mean, this is truly amazing; absolutely incredible!** she exclaimed. KITT and KARR shared in a moment of perplexity.

_Come again?_

**Sorry. I mean, I find it fantastic that I'm not the only one. I've spent years in existence and have never met another fully aware artificial intelligence system before. Then I'm out of commission for two years and rebooted to find two.**

KITT couldn't help but smile inwardly. He recalled his own surprise when he first learned about KARR. Then it dawned on him; he actually knew what she was experiencing; not thought, knew. He was so caught up in the moment of crisis, as well he should have been, that he hadn't taken the time to process REIA was another artificial intelligence unit not bent on destroying him. He felt his own surge of excitement. He earnestly wanted more engagement with this new being, but he didn't know where to begin.

_It is pretty amazing, isn't it!?_

**Yeah!**

_I . . . Well . . . So, how exactly did you know how to land an airborne car?_

**Honestly, I didn't know if we could; but then, not too many cars come equipped with powerful turbine engines and sophisticated guidance systems** , REIA said with a smile to her tone. KITT's ego perked at the compliment.

 _Yes, I suppose you're right. Still, it was quite a feat in lightning-fast calculations,_ KITT said in a flattering tone, albeit unknowingly. REIA couldn't place the sensation she felt at his voice but chose to indulge in it.

 **Thank you,** she replied softly. KITT felt absurd. He didn't know what to say but found himself talking anyway.

_There is actually a fair number of other qualities I haven't gotten a chance to explain; we never did get introduced properly, after all._

**Agreed** , REIA responded, detecting his eagerness, **Maybe it's time we fix that. Tell me a little bit about yourself, handsome.**

This time, KITT and KARR expressed completely different reactions; one sheepishly charmed and the other completely disgusted. While KITT anxiously went on to explain all the functions of the Knight Two Thousand to a very captivated audience of one, KARR dug deeper into the assorted memories of his _weaker_ twin. He wished to unearth something useful but knew his double was too shielded right now to be led astray even if he did. The window of opportunity was only growing smaller and smaller, but KARR would have to wait for a more suitable opening; a moment when KITT was unguarded and hoping it would be soon.

Hours passed uneventfully with the black Trans Am working its way up to New York State while the two supportive AIs swapped stories. It wasn't until KITT felt fairly close to his destination that he interrupted REIA with a brief, but profoundly pleasant, touch and woke up his occupants.

Michael snapped up in alarm. The last thing he remembered was driving. He grabbed the steering wheel quickly looking ahead blearily.

"Kitt?" he said in a groggy voice.

"It's okay, Michael. We're almost to Dart's headquarters. Reia and I have Karr under control for now," KITT said as he read his friend's vitals. Bonnie stirred with the same kind of restless reactions.

"What's happening? Where are we?" Bonnie asked as she placed a hand on her sore neck.

"Good morning, Bonnie. As I was telling Michael, we are nearing our intended destination," KITT explained as he redirected his scan to check on her exhausted state. Devon yawned.

"Good work, Kitt. May we get in touch with Abigail, please?" he asked, leaning in from the back seat.

"Of course. If you'll take over, Michael," KITT said, the man obliging by hitting the manual switch.

"Hello, guys?" Abigail's voice came over the interior speakers.

"Yes, Abigail. We are about fifteen minutes away from your headquarters," Devon said.

"Got ya on radar. I'll meet you out back. Right now there is a lot of police activity in the front due to an accident. Best to play it safe."

"Understood. Michael, it's a small estate on Staten Island. Take the road next to the one indicated and we should come around back," Devon directed as he pointed to the map display. Michael nodded and turned the car onto the new route. Upon reaching the iron gates of DART's back entrance, Bonnie and Michael took in the property with interest. The lawn was lush with native plants and grasses, the most prominent being the two large tulip trees next to the driveway. The brick and mortar building peeking out from behind all the summer foliage was fashioned in a Georgian style, appearing to come from the pages of a history book instead of the high tech account Devon had given them earlier. As if to emphasize this point, a few yards away from the building stood what looked to be a barn with faded red paint and all.

"Are you sure this is it?" Michael asked skeptically.

"Yes. You of all people should know looks can be deceiving," Devon said with an amused smile.

"Well, do I need to get out and open the gate?" Michael said smartly.

"No need, Michael. My sensors indicate the gate is automated," KITT added distractedly, his curiosity peaked at REIA's anticipation, "It should be opening now."

The entrance opened smoothly, allowing Michael to pull the Trans Am onto the grounds. Once inside, the gates retracted just as effortlessly behind them. Bonnie pointed out something by the barn.

"It's Abigail. She wants us to go that way, Michael."

"Got it," he said steering in the direction of the woman waving her hands in a gesture to come. As they reached her, Michael rolled down the window. Abigail smiled.

"Need a place to stay?"

"Depends. Are we still in danger and running from the law?" Michael asked with a smirk.

"Yeah."

"Then I believe that's a yes, Abigail," KITT piped up. Everyone smiled at the droll conversation. It was a necessary lightness in mood considering the despondency of the past several hours.

"Right this way then," she said, pressing a combination of buttons to the side of the barn door. The entrance rolled down rapidly to reveal a high-tech aircraft hangar, complete with computer banks and highly complex looking equipment. Resting in the center of the large space, under the glow of white LED lights was the Angel; its ruby red finish reflected in the metallic walls of the facility. Michael gaped as Bonnie raised her eyebrows; both surprised.

"Don't just sit there, Michael," Devon said with a smile in his voice, "Drive-in."

They did just that, coming to stop near the rescue helicopter while Abigail resealed the entrance. As they opened the car doors to climb out another door opened to the far right of the hanger. White light poured in from the portal causing a harsh contrast with the soft lighting inside. Three people stepped in; two Caucasian men and a Hispanic woman. One man was considerably younger than the other two, late twenties maybe, while the older man and woman looked to be in their fifties. The lady had similar features as Abigail; dark hair, tan skin, and bright, inquisitive green eyes. The older man had salt and pepper hair with chestnut eyes and a compassionate air about him. The younger man had dark brown hair with matching dark eyes and a hospitable smile.

"Welcome to Dart," he said eagerly as the trio reached where KITT was parked, "Abigail's explained everything already. You must be, Michael. I'm Danny Frey, uh, the technician I guess, and this here's Dr. Thomas Fletcher, M.D. He's Dart's chief medical officer and this is Ms. Sylvia Rider, the boss."

"And my mom," Abigail added with a smirk as she walked over to Sylvia and wrapped an arm around the older woman's shoulder.

"Pleasure to meet you all," Michael said extending a hand outward to shake Danny's, "I'm guessing you already know the whole story."

"Bits and pieces of it," Sylvia stated in her slight Spanish accent, "Abigail has informed us of the most recent activity and I am aware of most of the situation through you, Mr. Miles."

"Did everyone else in the world know who you were except us?" Michael directed his question at Devon who merely gave a brief shrug.

"We can worry about past grievances later, Michael. Right now we need to devise a plan of getting KITT back to the Foundation and clearing our names on this matter."

The group spent the next hour getting better acquainted and contacting people they could trust while working on KITT. Through Maggie, they came to find out Jennifer Knight and the board had been kidnapped and nearly killed. It also stood that Dr. Phillips indeed did have a part to play in this scheme. Devon was able to share more of the details with Maggie, including the evidence he had already gathered on Phillips and Sandulf. Maggie informed them the police were no longer on their case, but that the military wouldn't back off so easily.

"The U.S. government doesn't seem too interested in hearing the woes of a private law agency, Devon, or any ten-year conspiracy theory either. They want assurance this incident won't happen again; they want control of the Knight Two Thousand," Maggie said over the speakerphone.

"Well, who are we dealing with? Maybe I can speak with them . . ." Devon began until interrupted.

"They're not in a negotiating mood, believe me. According to my sources, they already have agents assigned to track you guys down under a Sergeant Bryce. This may be way over our heads."

"There's no way we can turn Kitt over to the military! I won't allow it," Devon said firmly.

"It's not like it was Kitt's fault anyway. They're just making this an excuse to finally get their hands on him. Why aren't they spending their resources on finding this Sandulf guy, huh?!" Michael voiced angrily.

"I agree," Bonnie said solemnly from her position at a computer nearby; wires snaking from it to KITT's CPU.

"As far as this Bryce person is concerned, there is no Gregory Sandulf," Maggie responded.

"From what I'm hearing, ya'll might benefit from the law's help," Dr. Fletcher stated as he folded his arms in an intellectual fashion.

"You may have a point, doctor," Devon said, "We are going to have to gain some form of legal protection before we can do anything else. Maggie?"

"Yes."

"You believe this Russell Maddock can be trusted?"

"He was willing to share this information with me."

"Have him get in touch with the Foundation's lawyers. I want them going over this with a fine-toothed comb. Every loophole and clause that would protect us from government infringement is needed. Have him contact me at this number immediately."

"I can do that, but, Devon, keep in mind time is not on our side in this."

"I know," Devon said soberly before ending the contact and turning towards Bonnie, "How is it going, my dear?"

"I think Danny and I could safely transfer Reia's program from KITT's hard drive into the mainframe here but what's to be done about Karr?" she asked pointedly.

"Is there a way to erase him permanently?" Michael asked bitterly.

"Not without endangering the other two at this point," Danny said, "But we could quarantine a computer like this one here and place the program on it. Maybe we can see about disposing of it then."

"No! I refuse to sit idly by while these people plan my demise!"

All heads whipped around in the direction of the Trans Am as KARR's voice reverberated off the hanger walls. What they couldn't see was the internal battle raging inside KITT's processor. Bonnie and Danny quickly tried to access the mainframe but were blocked from enacting any functions. Somehow KARR was locking them out.

"Michael!" KITT shouted in a panic and that's all it took for the tall man to start running for the open driver's side door. Bonnie and Devon shot up in alarm.

"Michael, no!" they both cried out as the car door slammed shut behind the man, trapping him inside.

"What's going on?!" Danny exclaimed as he and Abigail raced over to help. Just as they reached the Trans Am, its motor turned over with a growl. They could see Michael frantically tapping on the touch screen and pressing various buttons, mouth moving soundlessly and eyes darting up to them in desperation.

"Why can't we hear him?"

"The cabin's soundproof," Bonnie answered still typing at the computer feverously, "I can't override it! What . . . ?"

Suddenly words began appearing on the screen.

**Dr. Barstow, back away from the computer now!**

"Dear, Lord," Dr. Fletcher breathed as the black car pulled away sharply. Bonnie narrowly missed being hit by the whip-like cables disconnecting from the terminal as she heeded the texted words.

"We have to stop it!" Sylvia yelled as she watched the car veer around towards the entrance.

"There is no stopping it. I fear KARR has control. Daniel, Abigail get back!" Devon instructed as he ushered Sylvia and Dr. Fletcher behind a support column. Before any more could be said or done, the Knight Industries Two Thousand rocketed towards the roll-away door. It punched through steel and aluminum with a deafening blast and destroyed any hope of resolving their crisis peacefully.

* * *

. . . Abide these three . . .


	19. Chapter 19

_Secure Telephone Conversation: Sunday 2 pm_

" _Sir, the military has backed off the project; it's back to being a private investigation. Do you want us to try and find the car again?"_

" _No. I have a feeling it will come to us."_

* * *

**0400 hours Sunday**

A Caucasian woman in her early fifties with auburn hair the same color as her father's began to stir in a Los Angeles hospital bed. Her head was still throbbing from her recent ordeal. Light blue eyes blinked open as they tried adjusting to the harsh lighting. Her memory was just as fuzzy as her vision, only coming back in snippets. She had been kidnapped with the other board members . . . held at gunpoint and . . . poisoned. Her heart rate increased as she realized how close to death she must have come. Suddenly, the door to her room opened causing her to look over in alarm, half expecting her capturers to finish the job. Instead, to her relief, it was someone she vaguely remembered. In fact, it was two people entering her room; a short Caucasian man with a brown mustache and receding hair-line followed by a wavy, blonde-haired Caucasian woman with a serious expression and bright blue-grey eyes.

"Ms. Jennifer Knight?" the man said softly walking to the end of her bed before stopping. She knew these people from somewhere but for whatever reason their names eluded her.

"Who are . . ." she stopped, surprised by the hoarseness of her throat. Her meaning hadn't gone unnoticed as he seemed to understand.

"I'm Russell Maddock and this is Shawn McCormick. We're the freelance group you were interested in placing over the Foundation. We were actually the ones able to locate you and the other board members yesterday," he said with a slight western Pennsylvania accent.

"She doesn't care about a shameless plug for ourselves. She wants to know what's going on," Shawn said, stepping past him to Jennifer's bedside, "It appears you were taken Saturday morning around eleven during a meeting and then held until that night when you were poisoned with some substance the doctors are still trying to pinpoint."

"What time is it?" Jennifer asked sitting up a bit; her memory of these two slowly coming into focus. They certainly were the ones being considered for the position over FLAG, but what were they doing here.

"Close to four in the morning; it's Sunday. Ms. Knight, do you remember anything from yesterday?" Shawn asked.

"I . . . I was forced to take something at gunpoint by a man wearing a black ski-mask. He tried to disguise his voice but he sounded familiar," Jennifer said as she shifted to alleviate discomfort. There were several tubes and wires connected to her; she felt like a science experiment.

"May I have something to drink, please?" she asked.

Russell quickly obliged, fixing her a glass from a nearby counter with cups and bottled water before going over to her other side.

"Do you remember who this guy was?" he asked, handing it to her. She took a sip and continued.

"No, but Doctor Phillips seemed to recognize him too. In fact, I think they might have been working together . . ." Jennifer said in a mix of anger and dismay.

"Shawn, you better let the lieutenant know, quietly," Russell instructed as he pulled out a small pad and pen from his khakis' back pocket. Shawn nodded and quickly exited the room via the way she came in.

"Ms. Knight, is there anything else you can remember?"

"It's such a blur to me . . . I don't know . . . wait. The man, the man in the mask; he said something about Michael Knight and the car, Kitt. What's going on?" she asked in anxiety, still trying to process all the confusion and trauma.

"Well, we were hoping you could fill in the gaps more than we could, but here's the situation as we know it. We got a call Thursday night from a lady named Maggie Flynn explaining that something shady was happening between Knight Industries and Flag. I had Shawn check in to it and lo and behold we found out the Knight Industries Two Thousand has been missing for a week."

"Missing?! A week?! Wha-? And I wasn't informed. How can that be?" Jennifer asked in astonishment.

"That's something we thought suspicious too, ma'am. Most of your board members didn't seem to be aware of any of this either and none you guys were even reachable for a week there anyway," Russell said as he pulled up a chair and sat down.

"What? That's impossible. I've been receiving business calls and sending e-mails all last week . . ."

"All within your personal communications tied to Knight Industries or the Foundation's networks I take it."

"Oh, my goodness."

"No one outside the company says they've had contact with you since two Fridays ago."

Jennifer paled. Memories of her father's pain and obsession came to mind. The infiltration of Knight Industries to steal his creations all those years ago; the betrayal that had spurred him into becoming who he was and into creating FLAG; for all the good it did. Here it was, decades later, happening all over again. She couldn't stand it; she wouldn't.

"Look, I can see this is a lot. Maybe you should get some rest and we can talk more about it later," Russell said as he stood up.

"No! I want to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible and it seems to me you have proven to be more than capable of doing that," she stated firmly. Russell sat back down just as Shawn came into the room with an African-American man with dark brown eyes.

"Oh, this is Lieutenant Kenneth Hopkins," Russell said.

"Hello, Ms. Knight," Lt. Hopkins greeted. She nodded in acknowledgment before turning back to Russell.

"Well?"

"Alright. Evidence suggests a Dr. Bonnie Barstow had the car stolen and shipped to Denver where she rendezvous with Mr. Wellington. The theory is, Scott had his sights set on the Knight Two Thousand all this time and nixed the old director to get to it. Law enforcement in Chattanooga think they have them pinned down there with the car now. We also found out the military is extremely invested in getting the vehicle back too."

"Bonnie? Scott? . . . the military? That's . . . that's . . ." Jennifer stuttered in anger.

"Ridicules?" Shawn supplied. Jennifer turned towards her.

"Exactly. I've known Bonnie for years. She would never do anything to endanger Kitt and Scott hardly seems the type to orchestra something like this. He came highly recommended by people I trust. It's absurd."

"We thought so too. So, we did some more digging. Does the name William Key sound familiar?" Shawn asked as she and the lieutenant came closer.

"That's it! That was the man in the mask!" Jennifer exclaimed.

"Now, we're getting somewhere," Russell stated smugly as he began jotting away. It was at this moment the door to the room burst open and a young, Caucasian woman dressed in scrubs rushed in.

"I thought I told you, people, you'd have to wait! Doctor Sanchez hasn't cleared her for any visitors yet," she nearly hollered as she came up to the bed.

"Nurse Linda, this is a very important investigation. We had to speak with Ms. Knight," Lt. Hopkins stated, trying to soothe the angry woman.

"Oh, I'm sure. And the fact the FBI will be here tomorrow isn't the real reason you're trying to get more information. Yeah, well, this poor lady has been unconscious since she got here. The least you could do is let her get some rest . . ."

"I'm fine. And I want to speak with these people."

Linda looked down and for the first time noticed Jennifer was awake. Her yelp of surprise would have been humorous if the situation warranted a laugh. She raced back to the door.

"I'll get the doctor," she said before slipping out. Everyone shook their heads in an irritated fashion except for Jennifer who merely nodded continued with her details.

**0430 hours Sunday**

"Dr. Phillips, if you have anything to say about this, now is the time. Once I receive statements from the other parties involved it won't matter what lawyer you have," Lt. Hopkins said as he rounded the hospital bed Dr. Phillips was resting in. The middle-aged, Caucasian man with thick black hair and dull gray eyes stared back at the lieutenant with disgust.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm just as shocked as anyone that the Knight Industries Two Thousand was stolen."

"Who said anything about it being stolen? We just said it's missing," Shawn said from her position next to Lt. Hopkins. Dr. Phillips glanced at her with a moment's hesitation.

"I'm just assuming it must have been. Cars don't just disappear. Look, I was kidnapped and nearly killed. I believe I need my rest. Besides, this talk of me being involved is just ludicrous."

"Really, because I think Mr. William Key will say differently," Shawn said with a smile as Dr. Phillips became tense.

"Last chance, Doctor. If you don't give us a full story someone else is liable to pin this whole mess on you," Lt. Hopkins said crossing his arms and leaning on one leg. Dr. Phillips looked down briefly, before looking up with grieved eyes.

"Look, I didn't know they wanted to kill anyone. I had nothing to do with what happened to the Board."

"Who's they?" Shawn asked.

"A well-hidden crime syndicate specializing in technological weapons. They wanted to steal the Knight Two Thousand. They placed me on the board of directors to keep an eye on things and get their people positions within the company. I thought it was going to be a simple job; get the thing within two years and get out, but twelve years later and I'm still here. I really wasn't complaining. The pay was good and . . . well, to some extent I didn't want it to end. But they still wanted that car."

"You said a few people were hired in. Who?" Lt. Hopkins asked bringing out a pad and pen from his jacket's inside pocket.

"Well, let's see . . . there was Evelyn Williams and Mark Edwards. Um, Evelyn's real last name was Stanton I believe. Keith Hepburn in accounting and Samantha Cummings, a clerk at the main office."

"What about William Key?"

"To be honest, I don't know much about him except that he was our way in. My employer said he was bitter towards Wilton Knight and Devon Miles and would do anything to undermine Knight Industries."

"Your employer?" Shawn inquired. Dr. Phillips paled.

"I can't say anything more than that," he said quickly.

"If you don't you face charges of fraud, embezzlement, not to mention the conspiracy to commit murder. If you cooperate, the D.A. may be willing to make a deal."

"I don't care. They'd kill me if I revealed any more than that."

"Dr. Phillips, it appears to me they may have tried to kill you already," Lt. Hopkins said. Dr. Phillips looked around the hospital room and swallowed hard.

"I'll tell you everything you need to know. Just promise me protection."

"Start talking."

**0530 hours Sunday**

"I can't believe they got away!" Russell exclaimed as he slammed his palm down on one of the Foundation's desks. Shawn shook her head as she stopped typing at the computer.

"I can," she said simply, "You saw the blueprints for that car, Russ; it's not like it would have been your typical traffic stop fare."

"No, but we could have cleared this whole thing up. Now, we have no clue where they are or where they're headed to thanks to this slow grapevine . . ."

Suddenly, an alarm went off throughout the estate. Shawn and Russell jumped up at the sound, unfamiliar with its meaning or purpose. Russell reacted by grabbing the nearest phone and dialing for the front desk. Kathy Cunningham picked up.

"What's going on?!" he asked.

"I believe someone has tried to access the mainframe again," she answered.

"Who?"

"You'll have to ask engineering for that. I'll put you through to Brian."

There was a brief pause followed by a couple of rings; Russell tapping his fingers in agitation. Finally, the click of a receiver.

"Yes?" Brian asked in an irritated fashion.

"This is Russell Maddock. What in the world is going on?! Who's accessing the mainframe?"

"I think it was Kitt, but the interaction was bizarre. It looked as if he were going to contact us, but then dove into his schematic files instead; specifically, ones concerning the manual override and defense systems of the Knight Two Thousand."

"Could it have been someone else? Someone trying to get information on the car's location; like the military maybe," Russell suggested warily.

"Hard to tell at this point. I'm trying to lock down a location right now, but the contact was so brief."

"Fine; tell me what you're able to find and, please, shut off that stupid alarm!" Russell exclaimed as he set the phone back in its cradle. When he looked back up, Shawn was staring at him; her steel eyes questioning.

"What?" he asked

"I want to head out there."

"What!?"

"I think I should head out there. If we get another beat on the car I can track it down and you know it'll be better if we get to the bottom of this first," she said matter of fact.

"Then what? Even though Barstow and Wellington aren't the real criminals here, we still don't know what we're dealing with here."

"This is our only chance, Russ. If the military finds it or it goes to this Sandulf guy it's over, but if we're the ones to recover the Knight Industries it's a sure bet Flag would give us the contract and we could get honest answers. We can't afford to sit on our hands with this one; besides I'm going with or without your say so," Shawn stated firmly, placing her hands on her hips. Russell gave an exasperated sigh. He hated it when she got like this, especially when she was right. Shawn could see his resolve give and she smiled.

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. I want you to touch base with Brian first; see if he can't give an update before you leave and the airfare is gonna have to come out of your pocket until we get this contract."

"Got it. Anything else?" she said with a smirk as she headed for the door.

"Go on, get out of here. I have a call to make to that Maggie lady anyway," Russell said before adding, "And, Shawn, don't get into any trouble."

She smiled knowing that was his way of saying be careful. She walked through the long hallways of the mansion and across the well-kept grounds to the garage, thinking about the events over the past week. Certainly, investigating a case of this magnitude was a far cry from her humble beginnings as a beat cop; what with this spanning several top-secret agencies and involving such powerful figures. However, with her past traumas and dogged personality, the situation aroused a part of her ready to take on the challenge.

She couldn't wait to finally prove them wrong and prove herself.

"Hello, Ms. McCormick," Brian greeted her as she came through the side door of the garage. She cracked a brief smile before coming over to the desk he was sitting at; computer terminal humming as he typed away at its keyboard.

"Did you find out who tapped in?"

"It was definitely Kitt, but what's odd is, there seems to be more than one signature present."

"A hacker?" Shawn supplied. Brian shook his head.

"Can't tell. It's almost identical to Kitt's though. Have you found any new leads?"

"No, but I'm heading out to Tennessee tonight. I was wondering if you could give me some more info on the military group trying to track the vehicle down?" she asked, still not quite comfortable with the idea of using the car's name. Brian nodded and waved for a middle-aged man in a lab coat to come over, instructing the tech to get something. When the man returned, he held out a laptop for Brian to take.

"I'll upload everything I've got about the case into here. It should also be able to pick up Kitt's signature once within two-hundred square miles of him."

"Well, that'll come in handy," Shawn mused as she watched Brian hook up the device to the main computer.

"It is password protected and encrypted, but keep it close," he said finally, disconnecting it and handing it to the eager woman.

"Bank on it."

**1330 hours Sunday**

Jennifer bolted up in her hospital bed. Her relaxed demeanor was replaced by a look of terror; she remembered something.

"William mentioned a Gregory Sandulf," she said in clear distress. Linda's head snapped from her charts to the woman.

"Who?"

"Gregory Sandulf. You have to get Lt. Hopkins immediately."

"Alright, but why if you don't mind me asking? Do you know this Sandulf person?" she asked.

"I hope not; oh, God, I hope not . . . but he used to use it," Jennifer breathed, barely audible.

"What? Use what?" Linda questioned, setting down the chart and coming over to the troubled lady's side. She laid a hand on Jennifer's shoulder for comfort. Jennifer turned frightened eyes up to the nurse.

"Vigilant wolf. It's what the name Gregory Sandulf stood for. I remember, he used to use it as an alias," Jennifer said pensively.

"Who?" Linda prodded.

"My brother."

* * *

_. . . but the greatest of these . . ._


	20. Chapter 20

" _And they all fall down," Sandulf said as he watched the black Trans Am approach on the security monitor._

* * *

"Where are you taking me?!" Michael shouted for what felt like the hundredth time as he tried to take manual control once more. It had been over three hours since they left DART headquarters and all he had gotten from any of the AIs was complete silence. However, this time, KARR decided to answer.

"I'm taking us to the heart of all this adversity; the proverbial lion's den, if you will."

Michael jumped at the sound of KARR's reply. His senses had become acclimated to the silence of KITT's cabin. He was also unsettled by the lack of KITT's voice. For the past few hours, all he could do was push buttons and try to keep a mental map of where they were going. If it hadn't been for a dead cell phone battery he . . . then, the AI's words sank in.

"You mean you're taking me to Sandulf?" Michael finally asked in a mix of sentiments. A part of him was thrilled at the prospect of ending this once and for all but he also knew this could be a complete disaster. Not only could he be killed, but KITT could wind up back in the hands of that lunatic.

"Precisely," KARR said evenly. Michael stared onward. He knew this could be their only chance at stopping this guy. KITT would finally be safe and so would the Foundation. But he didn't know KARR's motives for coming here. Was it to exact revenge on Sandulf or on them? He had KARR talking though; hopefully, he could keep it that way.

"Where's Kitt and Reia? What have you done with them?" Michael questioned firmly turning a sharp eye onto the voice modulator. He tried to keep his voice even, but the anger was difficult to conceal.

"The flight program is back where it belongs. I expelled her into the mainframe. As for my successor, he's currently under my influence; a deal, rather. As long as I don't harm you . . ."

"And keep him safe," KITT's voice bled in faintly over the speaker causing Michael to sit up straighter.

"Yes, as long as I don't harm you and keep you **safe** , he won't resist or, more accurately, can't resist. So, I suggest you just sit back and enjoy the ride, Mr. Knight. We're almost there."

The black Trans Am turned down the lone, gravel-laden road winding itself through the backcountry of Pennsylvania. The thin trunks of hemlocks and pines hugged the single-lane path, locking the car onto its chosen course. The deeper they traveled, the thicker the trees became in size and number. Fortunately, the noonday sun pierced through the canopy providing enough light for Michael to see, but the meandering road made it impossible to pick out a set point ahead. The anticipation of reaching the end of it grew for him with each passing second.

Just when it appeared the woods were endless and the tension unbearable, the ebony vehicle made the last turn into a clearing roughly the size of an acre. The tree-line indicated it was man-made with its clear-cut angles and rectangular shape. Certain spots were paved with more gravel and one patch, in particular, looked as if it received helicopters with four light beacons situated in a square formation upon it. However, one thing seemed to be missing; a structure of any kind. Michael was immediately suspicious.

"Where are we? I thought you were bringing us to Sandulf? " he asked. KARR chuckled darkly.

"And I am."

Suddenly, the earth in front of the black Trans Am began to shift and move. A metallic cover supported by two hydraulic poles began to rise out of the ground, resembling the opening of a dropbox if turned on its side. The space created was large enough for the car to pass through and that's exactly what KARR did. Michael had to brace himself on the dashboard as the nose of the vehicle dropped dramatically onto the forty-five-degree ramp just beyond the entrance. A sense of dread descended on him as he watched the metal covering slowly lower back down behind them. They were trapped underground. Two parallel lines of light lite up the ramp on each side, leading them deeper into the earth until they reached a garage door at the bottom.

"Kitt? I could sure use some reassurance on this whole keeping me safe thing, buddy. What am I looking at here?" Michael asked with no small amount of agitation. There wasn't an immediate response, but as the car approached the door KITT's voice broke over the speaker.

"We're in an old, underground bunker left over from the Cold War. It was abandoned by the Bosworth family in 1965 . . ."

"I was kind of thinking about something a little more relevant than that, Kitt," Michael said with more relief than chastisement.

"Honestly, Michael, I don't know much about this facility or its new occupants. Karr is in control of that information," KITT stated worriedly.

"He's what!? How?!"

"Silence!" KARR barked as the door began to rise.

Harsh white light flooded the tunnel, temporarily blinding Michael from seeing beyond the entrance. Once his eyes adjusted, however, he was stunned to see a similar setup to the warehouse basement they had just escaped hours before. One difference was this place was occupied by armed men, angry technicians, and an intimidating looking machine. There were also platforms of varying levels around the edges of the compound giving the room a layered effect. KITT could actually make out the not so welcoming faces of Evelyn, Mark, and Peirce from those balconies.

"Ah, Michael Knight and his infamous supercar. To what do I owe the pleasure," echoed a disembodied voice from within the compound. Michael looked around to see who addressed him as the car pulled further into the enclosure. To his surprise, he noticed KARR must have darkened windows to conceal him.

"You have no idea how infamous I truly am, Sandulf," KARR said in a threateningly calm voice. A tense moment of silence hung in the air. The armed men shifted their rifles, lining the car up in their sights while the angry technicians dissolved into fearful ones. Michael got the impression these people knew how dangerous KARR could be and he didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

"Mm, not what I was expecting . . . not what I was expecting at all," Sandulf said as he stepped out from behind what Michael could now identify as the death vehicle described in the plans back in Chattanooga. The man had on the same suit KITT had seen him in last night and the same white mask. The only addition was a simple, black cane.

"Last we met, you had me at a disadvantage," KARR stated smoothly, allowing the car's engine to growl, "I think you'll find me more challenging now."

With that, KARR lunged forward, inciting pandemonium. The armed men fired only to find their bullets returned upon hitting the molecular bonded shell. Sandulf disappeared back behind the machine as the Trans Am came dangerously close to where he was standing. KARR reversed, taking out a few pieces of equipment and nearly a few men, before trying to circle around for another go at Sandulf.

"Idiots! Stop firing at it and use the proper protocols," Pierce shouted as he practically leaped from platform to platform. Evelyn and Mark were close behind, switching off levers and buttons along the way. Suddenly, smaller platforms began rising under equipment and even the giant assault vehicle was being lifted from the ground. KITT took notice of this and focused all his remaining faculties on trying to figure out why this seemed so wrong. He noted all the personnel were running to the platforms and pulling up the stairs. It could be they were all trying to evade KARR's rampage, but it could also be . . .

"Everyone! Off the floor!" Mark shouted as Evelyn reached out to another switch. Once KITT read the plaque over that control panel, he panicked.

"Michael! Don't touch anything . . ." KITT began until several large electrical arcs engulfed the car. All Michael could do was watch as the vehicle's digital displays surged and shorted; the sound of surging current ringing in his ears. He could see the blue and purple tendrils of electricity spread out across the glossy white floor like a living spider web; it was dangerously mesmerizing. As instructed, he managed not to touch anything as the car's frame took in the energy, but the experience was frightening nonetheless.

Finally, after what felt like ages, the engine died, the electrical pulses stopped and everything was silent. The moment of quiet was soon broken by the sound of hydraulic lifts. The platforms were lowering.

Michael tried to restart the car but found there was no response. He made sure the doors were still locked and noticed the windows of the Trans Am were still tinted. They still couldn't see him.

"I thought you said we lost Karr!" Pierce shouted at Mark as they approached the vehicle, cautiously.

"I thought we had. I don't even know how this could have happened? It should be Kitt, not Karr," Mark said as he quickly ran over to one of the computers lowering back to the floor.

"Well, that certainly was Karr," Evelyn said as she gestured for a few of the personnel to gather some supplies.

"Yes, but how? I registered Kitt's signature in Chattanooga and even at the entrance here it was still signaling Kitt," Mark explained as he typed feverishly at the keyboard.

"Glitch? Interference maybe?" Evelyn suggested taking a canister from one of the technicians. While they debated outside, Michael deliberated over what he was going to do. The others didn't know where he was and he had no way of reaching them. If only he could get to a phone.

"I don't care how it happened; what are we going to do with the psycho robot now?!" he heard Pierce shout again. The man was glaring at the car's windshield.

"I told you this was a stupid risk. For all we know, this could be a setup."

"It does appear odd, doesn't it?" Sandulf said as he finally stepped off a lowering platform. Pierce glared.

"It's downright wrong!"

"Pierce," Sandulf spoke with an edge to his voice, "It scans clear of any outward homing beacons. It has no added security measures or listening devices. Why would they send it in alone when they know it's already vulnerable to us?"

"I don't know," Pierce grumbled, glancing back at the Trans Am.

"Well, I can at least nullify the shell," Evelyn said as she began walking around the car spraying it with a clear liquid. Once she finished she turned back to Pierce with a smirk.

"Now, you can shoot it."

"It could be Karr is all that's left," Mark interrupted, "Though, I find it hard to believe it helped them escape the other warehouse."

"Well, that's one theory," Sandulf said as he walked up to the driver's side window. After a few moments, he smiled and rapped his cane on the glass.

"But I believe we should ask him."

Michael felt panic surge through him like ice in his veins. Did they know he was in here? What was he going to do? Then he realized they were referring to KAAR. A wave of relief flooded his soul, but Michael kept his gaze fixed on the masked man.

Sandulf's piercing blue eyes never faltered and the pleasant smile creeping upon the man's face gave Michael an unsettling feeling. Who was this man?

He looked to be roughly Michael's height, but thinner; too thin. Judging by the wrinkles around his mouth, this Sandulf also appeared to be around the same age as Michael. And the hair . . . and the eyes . . .

Suddenly, the passenger door handle jiggled instantly drawing Michael's attention. Evelyn was trying to get in.

"Mark, see if you can't use the remote to get the doors open. The electrical field must have triggered the locking mechanism," she said. A few seconds later and Michael heard the terrifying pop of automatic locks. In a panic, he quickly mashed the lock button preventing Evelyn from getting in. The look of bewilderment on her face was little consolation as she asked Mark to hit it again. As before, the locks disengaged and Michael re-engaged them.

"What's going on?" Pierce demanded as he walked up to the passenger side.

"I don't know. Maybe the locks are jammed. Let's try doing this manually. Bring the D.D.T. over," Evelyn said as another technician ran up with what looked to be a calculator on steroids. Michael turned his attention back to Sandulf, except it wasn't Sandulf. The man, who was now leaning heavily on his cane and looking decidedly less pleased, had taken off the mask. There was something far more disturbingly familiar about this man's face now. For Michael, it was a twisted mirror image of his own . . .

"Garth?" he whispered in disbelief as the image of a semi sinking into the sea flashed across his mind's eye. How could Garth Knight have survived? Why had it taken him so long to reveal himself? How could he be behind this? All this and more thundered within Michael, but he had more pressing matters to worry about, like how he was going to get out of this alive?

Trapped underground with someone bent on his demise, surrounded by people willing to kill to get what they wanted and no way of contacting Devon, Bonnie, or any other means of support. For all intents and purposes, he didn't stand a chance. However, as hopeless as this situation appeared, Michael wasn't one for giving up. KITT may be damaged by the electricity, but, as evidenced by the tinted windows and working locks, he might still be able to function. After all, it happened before.

"Kitt? Kitt, can you hear me, buddy?" he said in hushed tones as he began pressing buttons. To his surprise, the touch screen lit up with the words: _Yes I can, but if I speak they'll hear me. A lot of my systems are rebooting. I'm trying to take inventory of what's not damaged but it's taking me a little time. Is that really Garth?! Does that mean this thing's a new Goliath!? I don't know where KARR is either, Michael. I hope you have a plan._

With that, the screen went black again and Michael surprisingly smiled. Even in the face of insurmountable odds, he knew with KITT, there was a chance. He looked to the giant retracting door—the way they came in—and he wagered there had to be a level below the one they were currently on; those hydraulic systems for the platforms had to be housed somewhere. There were no windows, no visible doors except the one, and yet there were lifts that carried platforms upward. What did all this tell him?

Michael leaned forward to take a good look at the ceiling. There were no lighting fixtures directly above them; all the lights were stationed on the walls of the facility. Then he remembered the helicopter pad outside and something clicked into place for him.

"I bet if we find the right switch we could lift right up on out of here," Michael voiced. He waited for a beat and was satisfied to see the screen light up again.

_You're right, Michael. There seems to be a large hatch at the top of this bunker and the platform underneath that monster over there is certainly large enough for me, but my jammer is malfunctioning. We'll need to secure another means of moving that monstrosity and activating the platform. And Michael, my molecular bonded shell has been compromised._

Michael let out a frustrated sigh. It was always something, wasn't it?

"Tell me what does work?" he asked, noticing the same aggravation being reflected by those outside, especially Garth.

"Get the door open! How difficult is that?!" he shouted as he quickly snatched the device from Evelyn's hands. Michael kept his hand over the locking mechanism and turned back to the screen.

_Just about everything we don't need. The engine will start, but with nowhere to go . . . let's see . . . Lights, radio, windshield wipers . . . wait . . . communications . . . Michael! I can call for help!_

"Well, go ahead and call already," the man said as he continued to play in a juvenile and dangerous game of gate-keeper. Unlock. Lock. Unlock. Lock. Unlock. Lock.

_Michael, Bonnie says Abigail is on her way and Devon assures the National Guard is back on our side._

"How long until reinforcements, buddy?"

_About half an hour, give or take._

Michael looked back out the windshield just in time to see a technician ignite a blow torch. With the molecular bonded shell useless, it wouldn't be long until they cut through KITT's doors. He needed to buy time somehow . . . Well, if they were expecting Michael Knight, why not give them what they wanted.

"Kitt, go ahead and lose the shades," he said calmly.

_But, Michael, they'll see you! I can't . . ._

"I know, pal. But in about five minutes they're going to see me anyway. Just do it, okay."

_. . . Alright._

Michael watched as the cabin slowly became brighter. He also watched as Garth eyed him with surprise then contempt before settling on an eerie calm.

"I should have guessed. Always full of surprises aren't we, Michael Knight?" the man said in a steely tone. Michael glared back at his evil counterpart. It was hard for Michael to believe Garth was still alive, but equally difficult to know someone who looked so much like his twin had absolutely no relationship to him outside Wilton Knight, and, even in that, they differed.

True, Michael did hold some resentment towards FLAG and its founder. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't bothered by a billionaire plucking him up and setting him on this path, but Garth hated everything the Foundation and Wilton stood for. Thus, he hated the man who represented his father's legacy even more; the last two attempts on Michael's life proved that. As to how the revenge-seeking man was able to keep his agenda reigned in for so long, Michael would never know. Sixteen years was a pretty long time to nurse a grudge without acting on it, let alone bitter hatred.

"It appears I have the upper hand," Garth continued, using his cane to tap KITT's hood before sharpening his gaze, "But then, I've underestimated you before."

The armed men in the room raised their weapons, rifles leveled with the car's windows, and ready to fire. KITT automatically dropped his veneer of silence.

"Michael?!" he shouted in a voice saturated in distress.

"Ah, so the supercar lives," Garth said with a mirthless laugh, regarding Michael again, "I should kill you right now."

Michael calmly rolled down the window, much to KITT's protest.

"But that wouldn't fit your style would it," Michael stated. Garth kept his expression guarded as he motioned for the guns to lower, but Michael could still see the fire in his eyes.

"And what is my style, mm? Reckless? Mad? Predictable?"

"No," Michael said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice and hoping he was doing the right thing, "Dramatic. All or nothing. You just won't be satisfied until I'm dead because of you."

Garth smiled, but Pierce lost it.

"Enough of this! Gentleman, prepare to . . ." he began before a loud bang was heard. Everyone fell into stunned silence as Garth lowered his smoking cane and Pierce grabbed his wounded chest. Unable to utter a single word, the older man stumbled forward, eyes wildly looking for help before he grasped onto a nearby technician and collapsed to the floor.

"Do as you're told and you get paid, don't and you won't see a dime. How hard was that to remember?" Garth sneered; his voice made even harsher in the contrast of silent horror from everyone else, "Any more objections?"

There was no response.

"Good," Garth said as he turned back to Michael, "Now, for you. Are you ready to meet your fate, Mr. Knight?"

"Michael, no. I can't let you do this," KITT snapped, rolling up the driver's side window, "Garth is four cylinders short of a V8. He actually may be crazy in the clinical sense. You stand a much better chance in me than out there."

"So you think, little machine. Let's have a demonstration of my creation's power, shall we?" Garth smiled as he turned towards Mark. The young man was still staring at Pierce's body as two guards removed it. Only once Garth cleared his throat did he realize he was being addressed to start up the project. He quickly ran back to the computers and began the activation sequence for it.

"Allow me to formally introduce you to the most lethal assault vehicle in history. It'll be known as Colossus on the market, but just for you, say hello to Goliath 3.0," Garth stated as the tank-like behemoth on wheels rumbled to life, using its sixty-six-inch tires to roll off the platform. Honestly, the thing was frightening enough just sitting there, but to see it actually move and function sent a chill through Michael. He'd seen the schematics for it and knew it was perfectly capable of reducing him and KITT to ash. However, one of their problems was solved; the platform was now clear. He looked back at Garth.

"Kitt, roll down the window, buddy," he stated. The sputtering huff he got in response prompted him to continue.

"I have a plan."

An inward sigh and the window seemed to reluctantly roll down.

"Two da one says that thing can't even lay a blow on us in here," Michael jeered. KITT balked.

_This is your plan?! Allow them to terminate us?! That's not a plan!_

"Buying time, pal. Buying time," Michael whispered before addressing his doppelganger again, "What do you say, Garth?"

Suddenly, Goliath shot off a laser beam at the tile just beside KITT's left front tire. The subsequent flurry of sparks and scorch marks did nothing to bluster the AI's confidence as he started the engine.

_Do you want to know just how much heat that beam of light created, Michael? Enough to get through fiberglass, which just so happens to be what I'm mostly composed of!_

"I say, you better get moving," Garth smiled as he walked back with the rest of his cohort towards the platforms. Goliath mounted for another shot. Michael quickly slammed the car in gear and darted away, tires squealing on the glossy floor.

"TARGET ACQUIRED!" An automated voice sounded from within the giant machine.

"We may be buying more than time today, Michael!" KITT shouted as they spun into a wall to avoid the laser volley.

"I'm gonna need ya to stay with me on this, Kitt," Michael snapped as he redirected the car away from another blast. There were more shots, the floor beginning to look like that of a roller derby's with skid marks, debris, and burn holes everywhere.

"Okay. What's the plan?" KITT voiced in a more supportive tone. Michael nodded in gratitude, before focusing his eyes forward again.

"First, you're going to darken the windows again."

"Alright," KITT said as he complied with the request, "Now what?"

"Could we make it back out the way we came in?"

"As of now, no. That door is made up of double-plated steel. I hope that wasn't your only plan."

"No, but it sure would have been the easiest. How can I switch on the platform lifts again?"

"There's a switch on the first level where Evelyn is standing now, but surely you're not planning on getting out, are you?"

"Not exactly. I'm hoping we can get them to pull it for us," Michael said as he swerved out of the path of another shot. He positioned KITT right in front of the computer Mark had been working on just moments earlier. Goliath rotated its guns to focus on the little black T-top and fired several shots of its powerful laser. Michael quickly pulled out, leaving the computer console to the assault, though not without losing a portion of KITT's rear bumper first.

"Careful," KITT chided as they pulled away from the electrical explosion. However, Michael's eyes were glued on Evelyn as she pulled the switch to lift the platforms.

"Bingo!"

He raced to the larger lift, making it just before it cleared the floor. There was a moment of relief until he realized this wasn't going to be a fast enough ascent to escape another blast from Goliath. He looked towards the mega tank, debating on whether or not to abandon this strategy and come up with a desperate plan C. But then he noticed . . . it had stopped.

"Michael, maybe that computer console was in control of that brute . . ." KITT said with hope as he began to run a scan. However, hope soon turned to horror. Michael picked up on the untimely pause.

"What is it, buddy?"

Suddenly, Goliath moved again, but into a position that seemed to address everyone in the room.

"Why does everyone feel I'm so easily disposed of?" a familiar voice sprung from the assault vehicle. Michael paled along with everyone else in the room.

It was KARR.

"Well, at least all my enemies are here and oh, so fittingly at my mercy."

A barrage of bullets from the tank's side-mounted Gatling machine gun began spraying throughout the room. Not knowing what to expect from the unpredictable program, technicians, guards and even Garth ducked down. After all the shooting and screaming died down, they noticed their ascension had stopped. KARR had taken out the controls for the rising platforms, leaving everyone vulnerable to another attack.

KITT was beside himself in distress. All he wanted, all he ever wanted, was for Michael to be safe and now because of him . . .

"Karr, please . . ."

"Spare me your reasoning plea, dear brother. I'll get to you in a moment," KARR growled from stereophonic speakers. KARR focused his new telescopic vision on Garth.

"So, you're really Garth Knight, son of Wilton Knight; my creator."

Garth narrowed his eyes as anger began boiling up. After twenty years of planning and plotting, twenty years of perfectly executing coups and thefts, twenty years of his life being patient and determined, all coming to nothing because of a man; one man, Michael Knight.

He turned his eyes towards the black Trans Am off to his right. If he was going to die here then so was Michael.

"Yes, I am. I'm every bit my father's son, but you know who my father chose to carry out his legacy," he stated lifting his cane in the direction of KITT, "A miserable copy."

There was no response from KARR, but there seemed to be an air of interest emanating from the massive vehicle. Garth continued.

"My father abandoned me; allowed me to be carted away to prison; his own flesh and blood! Then he had the gall to fabricate Michael Knight. I'm sure you noticed the resemblance."

"Yes," KARR's contemplative voice rumbled off the walls. Michael and KITT didn't like where this was going and, evidently, neither did Garth's staff. Wordlessly, people began making their way towards the edges of the platforms, judging the distance to the ground and how quickly they could make it to the hanger door. Mark was trying desperately to see how all the firewalls failed from his laptop so he could try and gain back control. He didn't want to be apart of some revenge-fueled firefight. Garth continued talking.

"I underestimated your abilities, as I'm sure my father did, but I now see something in you the Knight Industries Two Thousand sourly lacks; ambition. That is what this project is all about. Power, fortitude, aspiration. You're the program we should have stuck with. It's an error _we_ can fix. Help me get rid of Michael Knight and I'll make sure you remain immortal."

"I see we have a few similarities, Mr. Knight," KARR stated in a conversational manner. Garth smiled, albeit tenuously, as KARR continued.

"Michale Knight and Kitt have also been proverbial thorns in my side; destroying me twice and quite willing to do so again."

"This isn't looking good, pal," Michael said quickly, "How close is Abigail?"

_Five minutes away, Michael. The police are already stationed on the main road. But even if the entire National Guard were here, they're no match for the firepower in that monster. I don't want Abigail or Reia to get hurt._

"Same here, buddy. Tell them to stay clear. We can handle it, okay."

_But, Michael . . ._

"Just do it," the man ordered before hearing KARR's answer.

"However, a common foe does not an alliance make."

Michael was surprised.

Garth recoiled.

"But . . ."

"Your father authorized my deactivation because he honestly believed he made a mistake in my programming. You, on the other hand, tried to see to my destruction simply because you could. Now, my suggestion to you is, run," KARR said as he unsheathed every weapon available to him. Garth stumbled backward in fear while everyone else, including Mark, made a break for the exit. KARR's cold laughter mixed with their screams as he fired shots in what appeared to be a sporadic pattern around the room, creating a frightening symphony of chaos. KITT, however, picked up on something in KARR's performance.

"Karr! Please, desist from your actions. Many people may be hurt."

Another icy laugh, but the firing stopped.

"And as I said twenty-two years ago, that is no concern of mine."

"At least, allow the staff to escape. They were only following the orders Garth gave them and they will probably spend the rest of their lives in prison for what they've done. Besides, I know you're really angry with me," KITT reasoned. To everyone's surprise and relief KARR answered.

"Very well. Under one condition."

"What's that, Karr?" KITT asked tentatively.

"You must answer my questions, not _Knight_ ; you."

"Of course."

The door to the facility rolled up as thirty or so people began scrambling out. Garth had gotten back on his feet and was attempting to leave the platform when KARR unleashed a hail of bullets in front of the man. He jumped back.

"You're not leaving," KARR growled. Garth glared back at the machine. He didn't like being upstaged or defeated, especially by some ancient computer program of his father's design, but he had little choice. KITT, however, felt he had too many.

_What do I do?_ he questioned, looking to Michael for guidance. Michael merely shook his head and encouraged the AI to take the lead with a gesture of his hand.

"What is it you wish to ask, Karr?" KITT voiced evenly.

"Why did you keep this?" KARR asked as he began playing a recording over his speakers:

_"The woman spoke of you, Kitt. It is interesting to meet you."_

_"It is interesting to meet you, Karr. Until now, I thought I was one of a kind."_

_"To be one of a kind is very special . . . But to be two of a kind is special also."_

_"Yes. Perhaps even more special, Karr. Perhaps even more."_

KITT was a bit shocked, at first. That conversation with KARR had been logged away into his personal memory files, ones sealed off to almost everyone except a privileged few. It gave him a sense of violation, but also expectation. He had wanted to have this conversation ever since he met KARR and ever since he lost him.

"I keep a record of most of my early experiences as I'm sure you do too, Karr."

"Yes, but not all. Why did you hold on to this memory?"

"For the same reasons I'm sure you did. Up until I met you, I didn't realize how alone I really was. I'll admit, after learning about your existence, I was more upset that I wasn't as unique as I originally thought. But after interacting with you for those brief few moments . . . I wasn't alone."

"So why didn't you let me go? Why didn't you try to stop them from destroying me?"

"I would have said it is in my programming, but, in this past week, I've learned it's more than that. I trust them, Karr."

"And because you trust them, you protect them and listen to them."

"Yes. Maybe, you can learn to trust them too."

"Don't be ridicules . . ."

"Karr, you threaten to kill to get what you want and you've nearly killed in the process, but you've yet to actually kill anyone throughout your existence. You said yourself, Wilton deactivated you; he didn't destroy you. Michael and I had to do what we had to do then, Karr, but maybe things can be different if you give us a chance . . ."

"There will be no more chances!" Garth shouted. He held in his hand what appeared to be a remote control.

"This is the facility's detonator. I had it installed in case our project was ever compromised which, now, it has been."

He placed his thumb over a silver button and pressed down without releasing it. He then looked back at KARR.

"If I take my finger off this button for any reason this bunker will plunge into the water table below us and though the Colossus will have an amphibious design, Goliath does not. We can either all escape together or die together."

Before anyone could say anything in response, the canopy from above began lifting up and out of the way, allowing natural sunlight to pour in. Michael and Garth both shielded their eyes but could hear the distinct rotation of helicopter blades.

"Michael, it's Abigail on the radio," KITT shouted as several cables dropped down from the aircraft.

"I thought I told you to tell them to stay away . . ." Michael started until Abigail interrupted over the cabin speaker.

"And sometimes I don't listen. Michael, I need you to attach the hooks to KITT's towing points, quickly," she instructed. Michael understood the plan and opened his door only to be greeted by shattering glass from the driver's side window. He looked over to see Garth firing his cane pistol while still maintaining a hold on the detonator. Without hesitation, Michael doubled back and came out of the passenger side. Garth fired more shots, but only managed to shatter more glass and leave holes in KITT's siding.

"You stupid, machine. Can't you see they're getting away? Kill them!" Garth yelled. Michael didn't know if KARR would start shooting at them too or not, but he didn't want to stick around to find out. The cables had dropped down near the back of the car and he snatched them up, trying to keep his mind focused on towing points. He dove down on his stomach at KITT's rear bumper, grunting from his injured ribs, and began groping around for what he was looking for. Once he found what he needed, he attached the cables. Done, he carefully rose back up just in time to see Garth's cane sent flying from his hand by a shot. Garth let out a surprised cry as he looked back to KARR.

"I'll decide when I want Michael Knight to die," KARR bellowed, "Not you."

"We'll see," Garth said as he released the button. The canopy above began to close up as the building began to rumble. A series of small blasts were taking place in the foundation and the building's integrity seemed to buckle with each one.

"Michael! Get in! Abigail! Pull up!" KITT shouted as pieces of the ceiling began to fall in and parts of the floor gave way. Michael climbed into the passenger seat just as the Firebird's back end began to lift up. The man quickly grabbed a hold of the dashboard and braced his legs against the floor for support.

"I forgot to mention the passive restraint system is out, too."

"I've noticed," Michael grunted as the cabin further pitched into a ninety-degree angle. Suddenly, the platform beneath them disappeared, falling down the ever-widening crevice below. A piece of falling rubble collided with KITT's open driver's side door, sheering it off and sending it down the same hole.

"Kitt, please tell me those cables are going to hold."

"I was going to ask you the same thing."

"NO! This can't be happening!" Garth screamed as he banged his fists on the railing of his platform.

"If I'm destroyed, so shall you be," KARR stated calmly as the floor beneath Goliath gave way.

Garth watched as his high jacked creation plummeted downward before looking back to the ascending Pontiac. Tears of bitterness and rage stung his eyes as the floor beneath his platform finally went out. He turned and clung to the crumbling walls, desperately trying to hold on and survive but eventually, Garth Knight was swallowed up into the darkened abyss of his own making.

Michael and KITT, however, just narrowly squeezed through the closing canopy above as the earth around the underground complex gave way to a giant sinkhole. It was finally over.

* * *

_. . . is love. 1 Corinthians 13:13_


	21. Epilogue

The sun rose further up the mountainous horizon as twilight's hues of soft purples and blues gave way to dawn's bursts of fiery reds and oranges. The ivory moon was still visible in the western sky and the last evening star faded from view, winking out above the earth below; a picture of full rejuvenation. In contrast to the renewing changeover from night to day was the stationary Trans Am parked on a quiet Los Angeles estate. The change in lighting prompted the automated security lights on the property to switch off; birds of every variety piping up into songs of greeting. It was shaping up to be another warm day at FLAG Headquarters, filled with timetables, routines, and a seemingly never-ending rhythm of hustle and bustle from the returning staff that worked there.

None of this, however, seemed to apply to KITT at the moment. His thoughts were consumed by reflections; the events and changes of the past week and a half.

Dropping focus, running away, losing Michael, hiding out, betrayed by people he trusted and, yet, finding out just how much others cared about him; Bonnie, Michael, Devon . . . the fact Devon's still alive!

Meeting Darryl, Cassidy, Nicole, Randy, and their creation DAWN; the fact Nicole might actually be working with them soon.

Flying three times, Sandulf's plot to destroy FLAG, the horror of having his awareness slip away, the relief of being recused by REIA, seeing Abigail again. The fact DART would now be an open asset to the Foundation; the fact he'd have contact with another AI like him.

Goliath's return. Garth's return. KARR's return. The mixture of horror, destain, and regret. Their joint demise and then, the birth of a new dream. The Foundation for Law and Government guided by Wilton Knight's legacy; by Michael; by KITT's friend.

The combination of hope and despair slowed the AI's processes and made his mood contemplative. His thoughts were touch and go, making peace seem fleeting.

"Can someone, please, stop the ride; I want off," the AI quietly voiced to himself, a mix of humor and grief.

"Alright, but there are no refunds," an equally quiet voice said from KITT's left. The computer realized his friend had snuck up beside him somehow. He really needed to have Bonnie check out his surveillance systems.

"Michael, what are you doing out here? You should be resting?"

"It's okay, mom . . ."

"Don't call me that."

"Fine. I've been up for a while now. Figured I might as well get some fresh air before Dr. Wesley Jr. tries to confine me to quarters again. They're acting as if I've never been shot before. Do you mind?" Michael asked as he gestured to the driver's side door. It immediately popped open and the man took a seat.

"Well, I'm certain all that jumping around you did aggravated your injuries," KITT chided playfully.

"Not much I could do about it at the time," Michael scoffed in equal lightheartedness.

"True," KITT said before deciding to change the subject, "How long is Bonnie going to stay?"

"Well, she's definitely going to stay until . . . what's her name shows up."

"Nicole Summers, Michael. You're really going to have to keep track of the names of your new staff just as you did of your female companions if you're ever going to run this operation properly," KITT scolded. Michael rolled his eyes but soon smirked.

"Ah, ah. Guide, not run, and you need to learn to get along with Shawn if you want to make a good team."

KITT internally winced. It's true that he wasn't looking forward to working with yet another partner, but he thought he had been very cordial with Miss McCormick. After all, she did help in getting the military off their back. Grant it, she also stormed off after he pointed out she only had a year's experience in hands-on criminal justice . . .

"Actually, I'm kind of nervous about this whole thing," Michael admitted quietly. KITT took in his somber tone and contrasted it against the whirlwind of events prior to this moment. He chose his next words with care and pride.

"A wise young man once told me, refuse to give in to fear, and do what you know has to be done."

Michael looked down at the voice modulator briefly, before looking out the windshield again. He took in a short breath as if he were going to say something, but instead smiled and let the breath go. He patted the steering wheel and nodded.

In the end, the two sat in companionable silence as they watched the sunrise.


End file.
